


Cottontail

by Byhookorbicrook



Category: Happy! (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Anal Sex, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Hate Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Love/Hate, M/M, Nick’s canonically not completely straight, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 117,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byhookorbicrook/pseuds/Byhookorbicrook
Summary: The ending of season 2 was extremely gay, but consider if it had been gayer.(Started as porn, developed plot, we’ll see where it goes)
Relationships: Smoothie/Nick Sax
Comments: 33
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

“Now, isn’t this a surprise?”

The words left Smoothie’s mouth with calm confidence. He didn’t even look afraid. He just gazed up at Nick with that one fucked up pink eye. His attitude was so aloof that it made Nick want to knock his teeth out, but he reminded himself that Smoothie would be singing a different tune soon enough. 

Unlike most of Nick’s accomplishments in life, finding Smoothie hadn’t been spur of the moment. He’d been planning this for the better part of six months, biding his time and watching the other man from afar until he learned all the patterns of Smoothie’s comings and goings. All those weeks of observation had only cemented his obsession. The idea of making Smoothie pay for everything he’d done was more tempting than booze had ever been, even in the depths of Nick’s sobriety—he had no intention of letting the slippery little shit get away again. 

It had been easy enough to sneak into Smoothie’s home. The back door had a lock that was easy to jimmy open with a credit card. He had timed it perfectly to make sure he caught Smoothie alone and unarmed in his living room.

Nick closed the small distance between them and noted the eager expression on Smoothie’s face. The other man didn’t look afraid at all. 

“I’ll admit, I thought you’d be a more difficult man to find,” Nick said. “It was almost too easy. Like you were trying.”

Nick was towering over him now, their faces nearly touching, and when Smoothie didn’t back down the way he wanted, he decided to help out a little by pushing him up against the wall. He heard the panicked little exhale that Smoothie let out and reveled in it. 

“Why would I hide?” The killer asked in a sickly sweet voice. “I won, Sax. I thought I watched you die.”

Nick’s hands tightened dangerously into the front of his collar, and Smoothie had to resist leaning into the sensation—after all, this was hardly a reunion he wanted to rush. He tried to catch his breath, even though he wasn’t sure when it had escaped him, but the smell of bourbon dripping from Sax’s pores made it difficult to focus. 

“Dying ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Don’t worry, you’ll understand firsthand in a minute or two,” Nick remarked. That only made Smoothie smile.

“And here I was, thinking that this was a booty call.”

“Right, I’m sure you mix up _murder_ and _booty call_ a lot,” said Nick, reasonably, as if it were a totally understandable problem. “But I usually don’t.”

To emphasize the point, he threw Smoothie roughly into the coffee table in the center of the living room, sending cups and coasters scattering across the floor. It was too easy to throw the guy around. It felt almost unfair. Then again, fairness didn’t have a lot to do with it. 

Smoothie had just gained his bearings back when Nick closed the distance and grabbed him by the jaw, pushing him down hard against the wood of the table. 

“You’ve got it in your head that you’re special, don’t you?” Nick said in disbelief. “Buddy, look, I’m flattered by the little crush you’ve got on me, believe me. Great confidence booster. But I’m kind of focusing on me these days, if you know what I mean.”

“Mm, yes, hellbent on revenge and all that,” Smoothie managed, his voice still measured and collected, despite Nick’s hand winding its way around his throat. “I can’t imagine what you’ve got planned for me.”

“It’s simpler than you think,” Nick admitted. He shrugged. “I was gonna twist your head off with my bare hands, how’s that sound?”

“Euphoric,” Smoothie hissed. 

“See that’s the issue, right there. That’s my one problem with the simple way out. It’s exactly what you want.” 

“I’ve made a friend of death.”

“Yeah, I’ve done a bit of that myself,” said Nick, thinking back on Orcus and the utopian afterlife he’d narrowly avoided by accepting the devil’s bargain. He hated the excitement that he could see brewing in Smoothie’s eyes, and he leaned into that hate. “That’s not gonna make this any more pleasant for you.”

“You’re a capable killer, Sax. I know I’m in good hands,” Smoothie said. His hands crept up to feel the steely grip Nick had on his throat, and he didn’t bother trying to escape it. His fingertips roved over Nick’s hardened hands and traced the cuff of his shirt where it met his wrist. 

There was something so infuriating about the way Smoothie was looking up at him, the way he was touching him. Now Nick could feel something _worse_ than hate bubbling up inside him, and it was starting to make him question his judgment about all of this. The fact that he was enjoying the touch of those fingers against his wrist gave him more pause than he wanted to admit. 

He relaxed his grip on Smoothie’s throat and pulled the man up against him roughly by the collar, enjoying the way Smoothie’s human eye narrowed with confusion while the rabbit eye darted frantically back and forth. 

“You’re in good hands, all right,” he growled under his breath. The way Smoothie squirmed in his grip was strangely, sadistically satisfying. 

“Do it, then,” the other man demanded. “Stop teasing me, Sax. Our little dance has finally come to a close. All that’s left is for you to end it.”

Nick raked one of his hands over Smoothie’s forehead and back into his hair, and when his fingers tightened at the nape of Smoothie’s neck he watched a flash of pleasure skip across the killer’s face. Smoothie was much too eager to die today, that was for sure. 

Nick was willing to work with that. After all, he had nothing but time. 

“I can’t tell which is worse. The fact that you’ve got yourself in a twist over being executed, or the fact that there’s a strong chance you’re gonna enjoy whatever I do to you instead. Still,” said Nick, easily. “Even if you do enjoy it, here’s the thing; I’m gonna enjoy it a _lot_ more.”

“I don’t know about that,” Smoothie choked out, just before Nick forced him back down against the coffee table hard enough to make him see stars. 

“Right, I’m sure this is all first date material for you, isn’t it,” Nick growled. He seized the front of Smoothie’s shirt again to hold him down and leaned over him, all the better to decide where to start. 

“This isn’t our first date, Sax,” Smoothie said between his teeth. His breath hitched when he felt Nick climb onto the table to pin him in place, and then much to his surprise, one of Nick’s hands was combing his hair again. Smoothie could feel fingernails getting involved at the back of his scalp. The sensation made him shiver deliciously. “You and I know one another much more intimately than that.”

“Do we, now.”

“Yes,” Smoothie said urgently. Nick’s face was close enough for him to kiss, now, and it was becoming more and more difficult to control his excitement. “You came here unarmed. One bullet would have served your purpose just as well, but you didn’t bring a gun. Not even a pocket knife. I’ve seen enough of your work to know that you prefer to kill with bullets.”

He strained towards Nick’s face and felt one of those strong, dangerous hands stop him just before he reached the stubble of Nick’s beard. 

“If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead already, but no,” he continued. “But that was never what you came here for, not really.”

“I came here to make you pay.”

“No, you came here to _touch_ me,” Smoothie said, his voice utterly infuriating. He sounded absolutely smitten at the thought of it. “To put your hands around my throat, to look me in the eyes, to see if you could make me beg. Believe me, I understand. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”

“If this is your version of flirting, I’ve gotta say, it needs work,” Nick said. Still, he couldn’t deny the truth of it. Nick had considered other methods, but nothing compared to the idea of breaking Smoothie apart with his own hands. 

He was starting to enjoy their little back-and-forth. He had forgotten how much tension there was between them, how hungry Smoothie’s eyes looked every time they studied him, even how faintly sweet his breath was. Nick loved that, which was irritating. 

“You’re hesitating,” Smoothie said. “Why? Don’t you want to hit me, Sax?”

“I’ve never wanted to hit you more,” Nick growled. He couldn’t get that sweet smell out of his mind, and he breathed in again, deep, then said, “Did you just have a tic-tac or something before I came in here?”

“What?”

“A tic-tac.”

“I—no,” said Smoothie, confusedly. He opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but Nick shocked him into silence with a harsh kiss full of teeth and stubble. 

Smoothie wasn’t sure where the kiss had come from, and judging by the haste and uncertainty of Nick’s motions, maybe he wasn’t sure either. It didn’t matter. Smoothie didn’t bother trying to contain the groan of delight that spilled out of him when Nick’s tongue forced its way into his mouth.

Nick yanked him in closer with one sharp, controlling tug. He had expected more of a tussle, but he wasn’t meeting any resistance. If anything, the harsher he was, the more confused and breathless noises came out of the other man. The fact that Smoothie was obviously enjoying himself didn’t matter so much to him anymore—after all, Nick was enjoying this even more than he’d expected to. He almost felt guilty admitting it. Almost.

“It’s not even Easter anymore,” he panted when he broke away, twisting his fingers tightly into the denim of Smoothie’s collar. His gaze burned into the panicked pink rabbit eye in the other man’s socket, and his voice came out more flustered than he expected when he said, “Why do you still taste like chocolate?”

He didn’t give Smoothie a chance to respond, just pressed him down and kissed him again, hard, then growled into his ear definitively, “That’s what it is, not a tic-tac, it’s chocolate. Dark chocolate.” 

“I don’t eat chocolate,” Smoothie said when he had the chance, his words almost tripping over each other. “Allergic to ref— _ahhh._ ” 

He heard a terribly excited noise escape his own lips when Nick’s hands raked their way down the front of his body. Smoothie had fantasized in the past about being underneath Nick like this, but he hadn’t expected his nemesis to be such a willing participant. There was something much more than revenge driving those hands when they reached his belt buckle and began feverishly undoing it. 

Nick pulled the belt loose and thumbed the top button of the other man’s jeans open, then he pressed his lips against Smoothie’s ear to growl into it again. “I hope you don’t have any new surprises in here for me.”

“Not like last time,” Smoothie hissed, his hands finding Nick’s shoulders and clinging to them for support while he shivered at the touch of those strong, capable fingers. He tried to arch into the touch when he felt Nick sliding his zipper down, but Nick was too heavy to move beneath. He gritted his teeth and groaned when one of Nick’s fingers teased the edge of the undone zipper. 

“The last time, right. I assume you’re referring to the time you tried to, let me see if I remember correctly, rape me, I guess,” Nick said sarcastically. 

“That’s an interesting choice of words. _Tried_. Maybe I’m the one remembering it incorrectly, but I don’t remember _trying,_ Sax. I remember—in fact, very vividly—succeeding.”

“Five second rule. It didn’t really count.”

“Ohhh, it did to me,” Smoothie said. His voice took on a cruel edge, which Nick found weirdly comforting. It was familiar, and it reminded Nick of all the bad blood between them. “Sometimes I wonder if it was worth losing my eye over. Or I wonder if there was something I would do differently, if I could have that do-over.” 

“And?”

“And the answer is no. It felt so good, Sax. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Again and again and again,” Smoothie sighed, his eyes fluttering shut when Nick’s fingers tightened into the denim of his pants. 

“I doubt you’ll get the chance,” Nick informed him. “But I’ll admit, between you and me, it did give me something to think about.”

“Really?” Smoothie demanded. He clawed at the front of Nick’s shirt, but Nick was impossible to move when he resisted. It was like seeking attention from a stone gargoyle. “Did you like it? Did you want more? We can continue right where we left off, if you want. Nothing would make me happier.”

“I can think of a few things that’ll make you happier. But no,” Nick clarified. “No, not the buttfucking part.”

“What, then?”

Smoothie’s breath halted abruptly when Nick’s hand slid down the front of his jeans and found the mound of his pubic bone. He heard Nick let out a chuckle and a little noise of satisfaction as his fingers explored the smooth, scarred skin there. The hitman’s hand worked against him with firm pressure, testing to see if any sensation remained in the area. When Nick felt Smoothie’s hips arch into his touch, it told him that he still felt something underneath. 

“That’s what I kept wondering,” he said. “Whether you get anything out of that.” 

He increased the pressure with the heel of his hand and enjoyed the way it made the killer whine desperately underneath him. Nick was fascinated by the response, and even though he was mostly fulfilling a sick curiosity, he had to admit that he liked watching the effect his touches were having on Smoothie. The smaller man was grinding his hips into Nick’s touch as hard as he could, even though Nick kept him restrained with his free hand. 

“You clearly do,” Nick noted. “You know, you actually feel real nice down here. I guess I see the appeal.” 

He saw a flush creep its way up from Smoothie’s collar to his cheeks, and he laughed. “Christ, you're actually blushing. That’s adorable. You know, you could do real well for yourself if you weren’t such a sicko, ever think of that?”

“I think I’m doing perfectly fine,” Smoothie said resentfully, just before Nick’s fingers started moving rhythmically against one of the sensitive spots on his mound. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the sensation. 

All of this was an exquisite surprise, but he suspected it would be short-lived. At any moment Nick’s touches would turn sharp and painful, and even though that would bring its own set of sweet sensations to enjoy, Smoothie found that he didn't want the pleasant teasing to end. Maybe that was the point, he thought. Maybe Nick intended to give him everything he wanted, to lull him into a false sense of comfort and then do something unimaginable to him. The thought made him press himself even more desperately into Nick’s hand. 

He felt Nick’s other arm push beneath him, bringing him close to pin him against Nick’s chest. Smoothie sighed gratefully for the contact and pressed his face into the collar of Nick’s shirt. He could feel Nick’s skin against his lips and nuzzled into it. 

“I admire your commitment to your art, Sax,” Smoothie said against him. “It almost feels like you’re touching me just because you want to.”

Nick crushed him closer. It was so easy to maneuver Smoothie wherever he wanted; he was light and brittle and playing along. “Oh, believe me, I want to. None of this is for your benefit.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one with a bit of a crush.”

“Think of it as more of a hatefuck,” Nick said, helpfully. He pulled his hand out of the other man’s jeans and shoved one of his thighs roughly between Smoothie’s legs, grinding it into him. His hands went right to Smoothie’s throat when he heard a gasp of pleasure escape it, and he tightened his grip hard enough to bruise. It would be so easy to wring his neck right now, but Nick managed to resist. This was one instance where delayed gratification was sure to pay off. 

“Now, see, I know you’re gonna enjoy it, and sure, that’s tragic,” Nick said. He watched the flush coming back to Smoothie’s cheeks now as he cut off the blood flow in his neck. “Thing is, though, that’s beside the point. Because it’s still gonna be cathartic as hell.”

He relaxed his grip when he heard Smoothie choking, but not by much. “Been thinking about it for a while. Long before you took Hailey. Long before you ruined my kid’s life.”

“I never hurt your daughter,” Smoothie snarled between his teeth. He winced when Nick’s thigh ground into him again sharply. “Ask her.”

“Pretty sure psychological damage counts.”

“All I did was help her get revenge. She wanted Sonny dead as much as you or I did. You should be thanking me,” Smoothie managed, before one of Nick’s hands closed firmly over his mouth. He tried to go on, even muffled as he was, but Nick hushed him. 

“Shh, I’m not interested in the excuses. Don’t make me gag you, Smoothie, you know I love our chats.” 

Nick slipped his hand away from the other man’s mouth, but kept Smoothie in check with a few hard, scraping kisses against his jawbone. He breathed in the smell of him, still surprised that he couldn’t detect a whiff of blood or urine or at least bleach on Smoothie’s skin. He could only smell chocolate. It was inviting enough to be infuriating. “I think we’ve had enough pillow talk though, wouldn’t you say?” 

“I think I’m inclined to agree,” Smoothie encouraged. “I’m on pins and needles, Sax.”

“Good.”

Nick slid off of him just long enough to flip Smoothie onto his stomach, force him over the edge of the coffee table, and press his face down against the lacquered surface to keep him from squirming. Smoothie looked ready to say something sarcastic, but Nick pulled him back by the hips and ground them into his own. The feeling of the rock-hard bulge in Nick’s pants wiped any snide comments out of Smoothie’s mind and replaced them with a needy whimper, which he eagerly let out. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say,” Nick remarked. He pressed his hard-on into the seat of the other man’s pants. It felt good, not just the friction, but the sense of power and control. He brought both of his hands to Smoothie’s narrow hips and gave them an experimental tug to see whether or not Smoothie was going to play nice. The way the slender man rocked back into him and gasped told Nick that he wasn’t planning on putting up a fight. He pressed himself back against Nick’s erection as if he’d been looking forward to it all his life. 

Then again, he’d probably been looking forward to it for a while. 

Nick leaned in, his lips sending a little chill down the back of Smoothie’s neck when they met the skin there. “That’s it, feel that dick. You’re about to get every inch of it. That what you want?”

“Oh, Sax, yes,” Smoothie gasped, grinding back into him again with gusto. “Yes, yes…”

“Let me see that eyeball,” Nick demanded. He pushed Smoothie’s head to the side impatiently, and his thumb traced the surgical scars along the edge of Smoothie’s eye socket. The eye flickered back and forth. “Jesus Christ, this thing is creepy. Got a mind of its own, doesn’t it? Think it’ll go crazy when I start fucking you? I kinda hope it does.”

Smoothie winced when Nick’s thumb pressed firmly and cruelly into the bottom of his eye socket, as if he were tempted to pluck the whole thing out. He would’ve happily lost the eye again if that was the price for feeling Nick’s cock against him like this. It was even better than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined it more than he would care to admit. 

One of Nick’s strong hands seized him by the back of the collar to hold him in place while the other tugged down the back of his pants. When he heard Nick’s growl of approval in his ear, it sent a shiver through him—although the sensation of Nick slapping one of his cheeks hard enough to make his breath halt was even better. Every word that left Nick’s mouth smelled of alcohol and the snuffed out ends of cigarettes. 

“Not so tough now, are you, Peter Cottontail?” He demanded as he dug his nails into one of the other man’s asscheeks. “Hmm. You work out?”

“My—my job keeps me pretty active,” Smoothie managed. 

“I can tell. Nice ass.”

“Sax,” Smoothie said, the edge in his voice faltering when Nick kept touching him. “I understand that this is more my area of expertise than yours, but your technique needs work.”

“I haven’t even—”

“—your torture technique.”

“Does it, now?”

“Obviously I understand the appeal of the bait and switch. _Ahhhhh_ ,” Smoothie exhaled sharply when he felt Nick spread his legs as much as the jeans would allow. “But you’ve baited a bit longer than I would recommend. Professionally speaking.”

“You’d rather I get it over with? You’re breaking my heart, Smoothie, here I was thinking you liked me,” Nick said. He let one of his hands slip between the other man’s cheeks and he pressed the pad of his thumb hard against Smoothie’s hole when he found it, though not hard enough to satisfy him. Smoothie let out a petulant noise of frustration. 

“You’re taking it the wrong way,” he said. 

“Yeah? In about two minutes I’ll be taking you the wrong way, buddy.” 

“Don’t take it personally. I understand professional criticism between fellow hitmen can be easily misinterpreted, but we respect each other’s work enough to be honest, don’t we?”

“You talk a lot, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“Always liked hearing you talk,” Nick growled against him. He wrapped one of his arms around the little man’s chest and pulled him in tight to say in his ear, “Classic bad guy, always talking. Really gives everyone else the opportunity to formulate an escape plan, you know that, right?”

“You’re changing the subject. Not interested in my feedback?”

“You’re gonna give it to me anyway, so knock yourself out.”

Smoothie’s red eye flickered back in his direction and locked on, which made his frown something more sinister than expected. He sneered back at Nick over his shoulder, and the expression was annoying enough that it made Nick slap his ass again, harder than the first time, just for the sake of putting him in his place. He saw Smoothie flinch just a little, but it wasn’t enough. Nick hit him again hard enough to hear a soft yelp. 

He liked the yelp more than he’d been expecting, and his hand roved over the surface he’d just struck. He could feel the warmth of blood rushing to the spot. It was probably going to bruise. 

Then again, by the end of this, Smoothie would be hard-pressed to find a patch of skin that wasn’t bruised. Nick didn’t plan to stop until he ran out of real estate. 

He pulled Smoothie against him again, then gave him a quick little kiss on the back of the neck just to watch the man’s skin prickle at the touch. “Aw, look at you. I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?”

“If you can’t take constructive criticism, that’s your own shortcoming,” Smoothie said through his teeth. He looked like he intended to go on, but his mouth froze half-open when he felt Nick’s thumb against him again, this time pushing hard enough to open him up. A noise that Smoothie wasn’t sure he’d ever made before worked its way out of him when Nick’s thumb pushed in nice and slow. The rest of his body went limp against the coffee table while his hands caught the edges for support. Nick’s thumb circled deliciously inside as though to test his tightness. 

“Listen, Smoothie,” Nick said, conversationally, pushing in harder to emphasize his point. “I want you to know I consider myself as heterosexual as the average American man. But I’ve gotta say.”

“Say what?” Smoothie demanded. His voice was starting to tip over the edge toward genuine enjoyment, and when Nick gave him one sharp thrust with his thumb, an ecstatic laugh escaped his lips. 

“You really do make me wonder about it sometimes,” Nick admitted. He leaned into the other man, trying to push his thumb in as deep as it would go and noting the way that Smoothie pressed himself back onto the digit desperately. Nick had already been distracted when they started, but now he was feeling less collected than he wanted to be for the remainder of his revenge. Hell, he’d started off almost gently with Smoothie’s asshole. 

“Did I make you curious?” The killer managed, grinding back against him. “Was it when I was inside you, Sax? I know I was your first.” 

“No, no, way before that. Right when we first met, I remember thinking that out of all of Blue’s men, if I absolutely had to pick a guy, you’d be top of the list.”

And there it was, all of a sudden; the Achilles heel he’d been looking for. He saw it in Smoothie’s pale pink eye when it narrowed with skepticism. Nick grinned down at him, ready to exploit the weak spot. 

“Yeah, I remember it like it was yesterday. I’ll bet you do too. You had a bone saw.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down for me.”

“You remember, though,” Nick said. He pulled his thumb out of the other man and flipped him over to force it into his mouth, grinding his nail up under the cheek. Smoothie snarled eagerly into it. Nick felt his ankles scraping at him, trying to pull him closer while Nick held him down. “Yeah, you remember. You know how I know? You got down on your knees to cut my dick off and you hesitated. Just had to stop and admire the view, didn’t you?” 

Even through the distortion Nick’s thumb worked on his face, Nick could see the blush working its way over Smoothie’s cheeks again. When he tried to speak around the finger Nick pushed it deeper between his teeth to silence him. 

“That’s right. I know, I know, you’re thinking about biting down,” he said. He could feel Smoothie’s tongue coiling around his thumb, and the sensation wasn’t all bad. “But you know what happens if you do. There goes your chance to be my little playboy bunny.”

Smoothie moaned and closed his lips over the finger in his mouth, trying to push up against Nick’s body and meeting impossible resistance. It had taken ammonia and narcotics to put them on a level playing field each time they’d met in the past. Smoothie was no match for him physically. It was the polar opposite of the kind of power balance he was used to, but with Nick it felt too organic to fight. 

“I’ve never seen you play nice before. I must have really caught you off guard,” Nick noted, pulling his thumb from the other man’s mouth and clipping Smoothie’s chin with it affectionately. “Imagine we’d met on different terms. Hell, you could’ve talked me into a couple of beers and bad decisions this past Easter, even, if you hadn’t manipulated my daughter.”

“I told you,” Smoothie hissed defensively. “It was never about her. I did it all to get to you.”

“You’re making this hard for me, Smoothie, in more ways than one.” 

“I noticed,” he breathed, his good eye flickering down toward Nick’s erection. He brought his hands tentatively to Nick’s chest and smirked when he felt Nick breathe into it instead of pushing him away. 

“Like I said, if I had to pick a guy.”

Nick could feel Smoothie’s fingers tracing the undone buttons at the top of his shirt. He went ahead and let himself enjoy it. After all, it wasn’t as though he planned to give Smoothie the opportunity to kiss and tell. When Nick closed his eyes and tried to forget all the things the man had done, his touch felt surprisingly nice. 

He leaned in close enough to kiss, but only let his stubble scrape Smoothie’s lips. He felt the breath shudder out from between the other man’s lips more than he heard it. 

Nick let the silence linger a little longer than comfortable, staring into the frantic red eye. He waited until he felt Smoothie’s breath speed up to press in against his ear and speak conspiratorially. 

“What do you say we put this whole revenge killing on hold for a few hours? You agree not to try and stab me, we crack open a bottle of wine, see where things go.”

“Proposing a ceasefire when you have the advantage? No, no. Too obvious a trick even for you,” Smoothie said, his tone sharp, tugging at one of Nick’s buttons with his index finger until he pried it loose. 

“Might not be a trick. Only one way to find out.” 

“You would never give up the upper hand. Just think of the things I’d be doing right now in your position.” 

“Don’t make me sweet talk you, Smoothie,” Nick said. He tried to take the violent note out of his voice, tried to replace it with something sexier, but it had been too deeply ingrained by now. As a show of his sincerity he pushed himself up from the coffee table and let Smoothie go, repositioning himself on the sleek, white modern sofa. He leaned back and uncomfortably readjusted the hard-on between his legs while Smoothie sat up mechanically and scanned him with his one wary, dark eye. He stood more gracefully than Nick had done and readjusted his pants and belt with quick, polished motions. 

Once he’d put himself back together, he shook his head and placed himself delicately on the far end of the sofa. Nick didn’t even have to look to know that he was sliding a knife out from between the cushions. 

Smoothie produced a butterfly knife and gave it a halfhearted flourish, but he didn’t look up. 

“Don’t look so disappointed, c’mere,” Nick offered. He patted the cushions beside him invitingly, then thought better of it and patted his lap instead. Smoothie fixed him with a disdainful smile. 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He shifted a little bit closer, but not quite into melee range, turning the knife over and over in his hands contemplatively. “Why come all this way, only to give up your little revenge fantasy?”

“Came up with a better revenge fantasy.”

“No, no. It isn’t that.”

“Anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? I’m having trouble seeing how this isn’t all a win-win for you.”

“All part of some ploy to get her back,” Smoothie muttered to himself. “Somehow. Your ex wife, or your daughter, or both. I’m sure they’re holding up just fine without you.”

Nick held his gaze for a moment, despite the distracting way the red eye rolled. He let the disarming smirk drop from his face and noted the way that it made Smoothie examine him with renewed and calculated interest. “They are.”

“Hmm.”

“Aw, I see what this is.”

“What?”

“Somebody’s a little jealous.”

Nick watched the sneer spread across Smoothie’s face before he’d even finished the sentence. The indignance in the expression only proved his point. There was something a little bit adorable about the way that Smoothie averted his eyes and focused intently on the knife in his hands. Nick saw his neck reddening. 

“Hey, c’mere.”

“I’m thinking, Sax.”

“Come on, you’re armed, you don’t have to be nervous. Don’t want to hear the new and improved revenge fantasy?”

“I’m sure it’s as thrilling as the last. Not sure why you’d fix something that wasn’t broken to begin with; I was looking forward to a worthy death. They’re so hard to come by these days,” said Smoothie. He tried to avoid thinking about how much he wanted Nick’s hands around his neck again, how perfect an ending it would have been. He’d fantasized about Nick in almost every combination of murder-suicide situations, and each one of them had been delicious. Smoothie wasn’t too concerned about his death, only about who was doing the honors. He wanted those fingers around his throat right now, enough to feel more than a little disappointed that Nick had changed tactics. 

Nick stretched lazily and let his arms come to rest along the back of the sofa. He pointed a finger in Smoothie’s direction. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“I think we’re past that.”

“A business proposition,” Nick said meaningfully, learning in. Smoothie’s head cocked to the side. 

“You have my attention, Sax.”

“Ever heard the name Orcus?”

He saw Smoothie’s ears perk up, watched his eyes take on a familiar glint. He sat back comfortably into the sofa. “I’m familiar.”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a bone to pick with the guy. I could use a talented professional.”

“You usually work alone.”

“Call it rebranding.”

“And in return, what? You expect us to part ways when the job’s done, water under the bridge? All debts paid in full?”

“We’ll bang out the details.”

Smoothie was staring at him, trying to catch him in a lie. His interest was obviously piqued. Still, interest alone wasn’t going to keep him from stabbing Nick in the back when he had the chance, or worse. 

He flipped his knife shut and stood up, then went to fetch his jacket from the coat hanger by the door. He shrugged it on and turned to see that Nick hadn’t followed him. 

“There’s a diner down the road. We can carpool, if you like,” he said, crisply. 

Nick rapped his fingers against the back of the sofa. “What’s the rush?”

Smoothie smiled, tucked the knife into his coat pocket, and then crossed the room again. He kicked a coffee cup out of the way that had been dashed onto the floor during their initial tussle. The expression on Nick’s face was inviting and a bit dangerous, and he couldn’t resist leaning down to examine it a little bit closer. His nose wrinkled when he smelled the sheen of alcohol that lingered across Nick’s skin. 

He expected some retaliation when he found Nick’s knees with his fingertips and crouched down between them, all the better to see eye-to-eye with him, but he couldn’t find even a hint of uncertainty there anymore. 

“I never rush, Sax,” he reminded him, letting his fingers drum Nick’s kneecaps lightly. He pressed a patient kiss against the inside of Nick’s left knee. The way Nick’s leg shifted a little in response made him tighten his grip. “I like taking my time with things. And once I’ve figured out the name of this little game you’re playing, then believe me, I’ll take my time with you too.” 

Nick breathed out and sank into the sofa cushions. The blood was already rushing back to his dick, which was a pleasant surprise at his age, and he was just getting used to it when Smoothie’s hands slipped away. When he tried to stand, Nick caught him by the front of the shirt and tugged him down hard enough to land Smoothie in his lap. He held him firmly in place and then worked one hand into the pocket of the other man’s jacket, then pulled the knife out and sent it clattering across the room. He could still smell the sweetness on Smoothie’s breath. 

“I’d rather you start taking your time now. I’ll bet you’ve got a cozy little sex dungeon hidden in here somewhere, don’t you?” Nick taunted. The mischievous smile that Smoothie flashed back at him told him he wasn’t far off. “Give me a backstage tour of it and I’ll buy you dinner.”

“A little flirting doesn’t get you access to the inner sanctum, I’m afraid,” Smoothie sighed. He braced himself against Nick’s chest and settled in against him, shivering a little when Nick’s hands pushed rudely underneath his jacket to feel him better. There was a peculiar hunger to his touches now that the prospect of imminent death was off the table.

“I’m also fine with the couch,” Nick offered. “I’m sure it’s seen worse.” 

Smoothie shrugged. Compared to the rest of his furniture, the number of people who’d met unfortunate ends on the sofa was relatively low. Though admittedly there had been a few messy ones. He thought back fondly on those while Nick’s hands found his lower back and pressed into him so hard that it felt like he was trying to reach the spine beneath. Nick had clearly been waiting a long time to touch him like this. Smoothie had to bite his own lip to muffle the eager noise he made when Nick’s hips shifted underneath him again; he felt the sudden heat and hardness of Nick’s erection pressing up against the nothingness between his legs. 

Nick felt the other man’s hips moving rhythmically against him, just a little at first, and he brought his hands down to Smoothie’s belt to pull him in encouragingly. The feeling of that bare spot up against his cock was irresistible. He wanted to tear the layers of denim away more than anything. He could already imagine what that soft, scarred skin would feel like against his shaft, and he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had it. 

Smoothie smirked and raked one of his hands up to feel the gritty, unshaven skin of Nick’s throat and chin. 

“Only someone with a death wish would be doing what you’re doing right now,” he said, his heartbeat tripping over itself for a moment when Nick’s fingers tugged at his shirt to start plucking the buttons loose. He let go of Nick’s chin just long enough to smack one of his hands away emphatically, then replaced it where he wanted it, at his collar. “Start from the top.” 

“Don’t be bossy.”

Nick’s fingers undid the snug button at the top of Smoothie’s shirt. He ducked his head underneath the other man’s chin to plant a rough kiss against the skin there. His lips trailed lower when he moved on to the next button. There was something nice about the warm, clean smell of Smoothie’s skin. He undid the next two buttons and got distracted feeling the other man’s tidy, bare chest beneath. 

His breath hissed out between his teeth and he let his hands explore underneath Smoothie’s shirt. His rival was surprisingly soft and pliable. Smoothie didn’t have the hardened body of a killer, not in the way that Nick did. He was more pleasant to touch than Nick had been expecting, and when Nick’s lips pressed up hungrily against the skin—so soft, clearly recently waxed—he let out a muffled growl. 

“Found something you like?” Smoothie asked, amused, as he arched into the series of sandpaper kisses that Nick planted across his chest. The man’s beard was prickly enough to be a pleasant source of pain. It felt exactly the way he’d imagined it would, all those times that he’d fantasized about Nick’s mouth on him. 

“You keep yourself real pretty, don’t you,” Nick growled under his breath in response. He couldn’t resist the way Smoothie’s skin felt. All he wanted to do was touch it, taste it, leave obnoxious bite marks all over it. The fact that Smoothie kept himself so pristine only made Nick want to rough him up more. 

He couldn’t repress the groan of satisfaction that left his lips when he felt Smoothie’s thighs tighten around him. His cock was aching for contact, and the crush of the other man’s body against him was so irresistible that it felt criminal. 

Without giving it half a second's thought, he pulled the last two button’s of Smoothie’s shirt loose with one firm tug. The sound of fabric ripping rang through the air, but Nick didn’t register it until he saw indignation flare up in Smoothie’s face. One of the killer’s buttons rattled on the hardwood floor when it fell. 

Within a handful of seconds Nick felt a knife pressing into his back, targeting his kidney with perfect precision. 

“Aw, c’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” he sighed, pushing his hands underneath the torn shirt and pulling Smoothie closer, even though it resulted in a warning prick against the skin of his back. The knife was a bit of a step back, sure, but Nick knew it wouldn’t be too difficult to get on Smoothie’s good side again. He leaned in and nuzzled exaggeratedly at the other man’s neck before continuing, “We both know you’re not gonna do it, at least not until after.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Didn’t mean to rip your shirt. It obviously had a lot of sentimental value, given the extreme reaction,” Nick offered. The blade pinched his skin again. When he winced a little in response, Smoothie’s head inclined toward him with renewed interest. Nick gave him one hungry nip on the neck, taking advantage of his attention, then pressed his mouth against Smoothie’s ear to say, “But a guy like you? I get it. Extreme reactions are part of your job description. Still, gotta learn to leave work at the office.”

He felt Smoothie relax a little in his grip, and even though the knife didn’t move, the pressure of the blade against Nick’s skin melted away. 

Smoothie sounded almost sincere when he sighed and said, “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“It’s been difficult lately, relaxing,” Smoothie mused, tapping the knife absentmindedly against Nick’s back. Nick’s mouth was on his neck again in a moment, all ravenous kisses, and the sensation was enough to make Smoothie’s eyes flutter shut. “Ever since Easter, I’ve really just been going through the motions.” 

Nick feigned a noise of interest. “Mm?”

“Mm. The only thing that cheers me up these days is, well...” Smoothie pressed the tip of the knife against him one more time, _hard_ , as if to emphasize his words. “Getting it in, shall we say.”

Nick chuckled under his breath. “Is that right? There’d better not be anyone waiting for you down in that sex dungeon of yours.”

“Oh, there is,” Smoothie admitted immediately. Nick seemed genuinely surprised to hear it, so he went on to clarify, “Though he isn’t waiting, I think, so much as praying. Praying that I never come back, and that he can starve down there in peace and quiet. A nice, restful death, instead of the little dissection game we’ve been playing.”

“Between your tendency to monologue and the content of those monologues, you sure do know how to kill an erection.”

“And yet here you are, Sax,” Smoothie said in a sweet, silky voice. “More _erect_ than you’ve been in a while, I imagine.”

“Probably in my life,” Nick threw out casually, as he reached back with one hand to find the knife against him. He traced it back to Smoothie’s fingers and pulled the other man into a firm kiss while untangling the knife gently from his grip. Smoothie let go of it willingly enough, and as a show of goodwill, Nick went ahead and slipped the blade back in between the sofa cushions where it belonged. He felt Smoothie’s teeth close against his bottom lip with a predatory little sound and he leaned into it all too happily. It was a welcome improvement over the knife. 

Smoothie scraped his fingertips over the rough edges of Nick’s jawbone, feeling the way the muscles worked beneath the skin while Nick kissed him. He’d always been so close to Nick, but still so far away. Their interactions up until now had always been too brief, their bodies always a bit too far apart, their jobs getting in the way. Upon hearing that Nick was dead, Smoothie thought his dreams of getting the hitman alone had died with him; now that he’d been given a second chance, he intended to make the most of the opportunity. 

He broke away from Nick’s lips long enough to say quietly, “I’d like you to lay down.”

Nick thought about resisting, just for the sake of keeping Smoothie in check, but when he felt the other man’s skilled hands tracing the back of his neck, he decided to roll with it. He tipped over, dead weight, and felt Smoothie on top of him before his head even hit the cushions. The killer’s hands skimmed the front of his shirt while he undid Nick’s buttons as quickly and efficiently as he might’ve cleaned a crime scene. When he finally pushed the heavy layers away from Nick’s skin, it felt like—well, ironically enough, Christmas morning. Nick was something beautiful to behold, even in spite of his drinking problem. His body was built to shatter bones. That was one of the things Smoothie found uniquely irresistible about him. He’d seen Nick perform feats of inhuman strength and savagery and watched him break human skulls without breaking a sweat, and now he wanted nothing more than to make that lethal body submit to his every whim. 

It wasn’t the first time that Nick had closed his eyes and let another man touch him, but it was the first time he found himself responding so excitedly. He let Smoothie guide him out of his coat, then his shirt. Those hands were terribly soft against his chest when they pressed him down to map the contours of his body. 

“Perfect,” Smoothie said reverently, his eyes scanning Nick for any sign of hesitance and finding none. On the contrary, the reckless grin on Nick’s face was daring him to do his worst. There was no mistaking it. “What a specimen you are, Sax. I can’t say half the things I want to do to you. The most depraved things…”

“Oh, it’s mutual, baby,” Nick growled. He pushed his hands greedily into Smoothie’s back pockets and pulled him in again, eager to feel the killer’s skin flush against his own. “Speaking of which, I’m about ready to snap you in half if you don’t quit talking and find something better to do with that mouth.”

Smoothie tried to say something snide, but the moment he felt Nick’s hand catch the scruff of his neck and push him down, there was no point in wasting the words. His fingers worked feverishly at the front of Nick’s pants until Nick’s cock was free. Those strong hands forced him down until his lips met the hair underneath Nick’s navel, and he was shivering with anticipation when he finally closed his hand over the shaft in front of him. 

“That’s it,” Nick said, in a voice that Smoothie found surprisingly soft. “That’s right.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been face-to-face with Nick’s most intimate parts, or even the second, but Smoothie had never gotten the chance to appreciate Nick’s cock this closely before. He let his hand memorize the dimensions of it with each careful stroke, and by the time his lips met the hair surrounding it, Nick’s fingers were tightening with need around the nape of his neck. He held back as best he could, but couldn’t resist laying a kiss against the base of Nick’s cock when it met his cheek. 

Nick let himself sink into the sensation. It had been so long since he’d been touched like this. It didn’t help that part of him had been looking forward to this since the first time he and Smoothie had met, back when their deadly tango started. He let his fingers track their way across the other man’s skull as Smoothie’s lips traversed the length of him, and by the time they reached the head of his cock Nick’s heart rate was already spiking out of control. God, a heart attack would be the worst thing to happen to him right now—then again, Smoothie would probably consider it a turn on. 

He lost control of the growl that escaped him when the other man’s tongue met the sensitive spot underneath the crown of his cock, and before he knew it, his hands were pushing hard against the back of Smoothie’s skull. It only took a moment of pressure to send the message. Nick’s mind blanked out for a second when he felt Smoothie take him in, and for just a moment, all he could feel was the intense heat of Smoothie’s mouth and the skilled attention of his tongue. He hissed out a series of curses under his breath when he felt himself pushing eagerly into the other man’s mouth. 

It would have been impossible to take the entirety of Nick’s length without choking, and although Smoothie wasn’t at all adverse to the idea of choking on it, he managed to keep himself together enough to maintain his technique. After all, this was Nick Sax. He was more than just an interesting thing to toy with. 

The two of them had been _destined_ for one another. Smoothie kept that thought firmly in his mind while he worked Nick’s cock in and out of his mouth in an irresistible rhythm. 

“Goddammit,” Nick managed through clenched teeth, his heart stuttering for a moment when he felt his tip hit the back of the killer’s throat deliciously. “I figured you’d be good at this, but Jesus Christ, warn a guy.” 

One of Smoothie’s hands found his hip and gripped him hard, controlling him with firm touches, coaxing him into the right rhythm. Nick let himself be swept up in the sensation. He’d never felt anything like this before, not even when he’d frequented establishments where blowjobs were on the professional menu. There was something unique about the fervor in Smoothie’s actions, something altogether new. Nick couldn’t help but think that it had to do with the bloody intimacy they shared. The two of them understood each other in a way that no one else could, and even though it felt cliché, Nick could feel something strangely unique in the way that Smoothie’s mouth opened up for him. It was as if they were made to fit together like this. 

He let out a deep groan and tightened his grip on the back of Smoothie’s skull as the pleasure started to overwhelm him. Those two cues were enough to prompt Smoothie to release him immediately, and even when Nick’s fingers dug into the back of his neck, he resisted lowering his lips back to the impressive cock that he’d been salivating over since December. 

“No, no, no,” he said gently, laying one last playful kiss against Nick’s shaft. “Not yet, you naughty thing, not yet. Come here.” 

Nick hated how cold the air felt now, and couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than the warmth of Smoothie’s mouth on him again. Still, he didn’t complain when Smoothie’s lips met his own. He pulled the other man in hard by the shoulders, fixating for a moment on how absolutely breakable Smoothie felt in his grip. He leaned into even the roughest of Nick’s touches, always ready for more. 

Nick took advantage of it by tracing the slender body on top of him with his fingertips. He didn’t let up on the kiss until his thumbs grazed Smoothie’s nipples beneath the shirt and he felt the other man break away with a soft, sharp noise of pleasure. 

“Mm, there we go, there’s something that gets you going,” Nick murmured against him, admiring the way Smoothie’s teeth found his bottom lip to bite back another delicious little sound. The fact that he couldn’t quite disguise it was something Nick found irresistible. 

“You always get me going, Sax,” Smoothie said delicately into Nick’s ear. He let his arms wind around the man’s neck, all the better to lean into Nick’s touch. “I might be lacking in certain...qualities, shall we say, but I’m only human.”

“Certain qualities. You mean a conscience, or a dick?”

“Whichever.” 

Nick’s lips nuzzled up against Smoothie’s cheek, peppering him with kisses to pacify him, working his hands tenderly over the most sensitive areas he’d found so far. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be totally out of line to ask, and then finally said, “What does it feel like, exactly? Being turned on with no dick?”

He had already braced himself for backlash in case the question was offensive, but Smoothie only laughed easily and found one of Nick’s hands with his own. He guided it down between his legs again, and from there Nick needed no convincing; he was all too eager to explore. 

He watched with increasing fascination as Smoothie’s expression contorted into one of helpless pleasure. 

“It feels like something else,” he said, his body twisting in response to Nick’s touches. “Something different than whatever you’re feeling right now. It feels like wanting to do so much _more_ than fuck you. And I have, haven’t I?”

Nick nodded, barely paying attention, transfixed by the eerie, unwavering rabbit eye and the terribly soft skin between the other man’s legs. He felt one of Smoothie’s hands catch him by the chin and give him a tantalizing squeeze.

“Yes,” Smoothie said. His voice was cool and measured as he studied Nick’s face, even as his hips ground into the other man’s touch. “Yes, I’ve done a lot more than that. At this point, I think I’ve fucked you completely. Mind, body, and soul. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Been thinking we need a redo on the _body_ part, but sure,” Nick growled. Smoothie’s fingers tightened against his chin. 

“Say it.”

“Say what?” 

“Tell me I’ve won. Tell me I broke you, all the way down to the core,” Smoothie said, in a voice that was dangerously soft. He saw Nick bristle up, felt his body reacting defensively. Indignation was starting to flare up in the hit man’s face. It was lovely seeing how much fire Nick still had left in him, how much anger. It was all a testament to Smoothie’s professionalism. He took no small amount of pride in it, especially when he pressed a finger to Nick’s lips and felt a little snarl come through them. “Shh, now, now. Play nice with me, just this once. Tell me what I want to hear.” 

His lips found the shell of Nick’s ear, and he kissed it tenderly before whispering into it, “Tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll let you do anything and everything you want to me, _Nick._ ”

The hitman’s grip between Smoothie’s legs tightened hard enough to make him gasp a little, and the sound brought a sadistic smile to Nick’s face. “Anything and everything, he says. Doesn’t that sound nice.”

“Just those three little words, Nick. _You broke me._ That’s all I want,” Smoothie hissed against him. He found the hand between his legs and sank his nails into it, clawing at it, loving the way that his touch ignited Nick’s own. “And then I’ll take whatever you have left in you to offer.”

Nick let his hand loose from the other man’s jeans and then closed it around Smoothie’s throat, tightening the grip to pull him in. “You think you’re so fucking sick, don’t you?”

His grip was tight enough to bruise, and the thrill of Smoothie’s pulse hammering underneath his hands was waking up Nick’s love of violence all over again. His mind was venturing someplace dark. He’d waited so long to get his hands on this seemingly untouchable man, and now here he was, faced with endless options. Well, maybe not endless; as messed up as Smoothie was psychologically, he still looked too physically fragile to handle half of what Nick had in mind. It was almost adorable how confident he was about his own masochism. 

“Listen, and listen carefully, because I’m not gonna repeat myself,” Nick sighed. “You’re a sicko, I get it, I know that gets you off. But you’re biting off more than you can chew, and I think you know that.”

Smoothie was smiling like an idiot, the kind of smile that begged to be wiped right off the front of his face. His good eye traced Nick’s body appreciatively. “I noticed.”

Nick chuckled and clamped his hand tighter until he heard a choke. The sound was like music to his ears. “Ahh, see, now _that’s_ what _I_ want to hear, Smoothie. I’ll bet you know how it is, don’t you? Little bit harder and we’re gonna start hearing some crunches. That your idea of a good time?”

He savored the soft hiss of air that escaped Smoothie’s throat when he mouthed the word “Yes,” all too eagerly. 

“Aw, of course it is. Of course it is,” Nick said appreciatively. “Right, because you’re the most twisted bastard walking the earth. Sure, baby, sure. But look at you. Little guy like you? You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the ring with my imagination.” 

He loved the way that Smoothie’s body squirmed on top of his own, couldn’t get enough of the sensation. It would be so easy to force Smoothie to really put his back into it; all it would take would be a handful of well-placed breaks and bruises. Nick let his free hand find the back of the killer’s neck. Wringing it now would be so easy that he had to take care not to do it by accident. 

“No, you wouldn’t last,” he sighed. He released the pressure on Smoothie’s throat just long enough to let him gasp for air, and then pulled the killer tight against his chest and locked one arm firmly around the back of Smoothie’s neck to choke him a little bit more creatively. He felt the other man shiver in the crush of his arms, and it made him smile. “Not for a minute, pretty little thing. I could tie you in a knot like a goddamn human balloon animal.”

He heard an enthusiastic noise of consent escape Smoothie’s lips, muffled against Nick’s chest, then felt the killer try uselessly to free himself. The attempt was actually laughable, and Nick allowed himself a solid chuckle while Smoothie exhausted himself with the effort. 

“The cute part is that you think you would enjoy it,” he said into the other man’s ear, his voice low and conspiratorial. He shrugged. “And you know, I’ll bet you would, some of it, at least. But it’s all just fun and games until someone tears that catheter out and fucks whatever hole you’ve got down there til it’s unrecognizable.” 

He didn’t need to hear the greedy, animal noise that Smoothie let out against him—he could feel the delicious tremor working up in the other man’s body, could feel Smoothie’s lips and teeth scraping his chest, and that was enough to tell him that none of his threats were landing. 

“Right, right, you think you’re into that. You couldn’t even get my whole dick in your mouth, but here you are, acting like you’d thank me for killing you with it.”

One of Smoothie’s hands found his face and closed against it with more urgency than before, and Nick softened the iron grip of his arm enough to let the other man’s nose and mouth free. Smoothie choked on his first inhalation of air and grinned through the pain, and before long Nick’s fingers were pressing firmly into the back of his neck, massaging away the soreness while he smiled against Smoothie’s lips. 

“Just look at you. Barely even a bear hug and you’re looking messed up, but you still think you want it,” he said. He gave Smoothie a quick peck on the lips even though the other man still hadn’t caught his breath yet. “I kind of love it. I’m not gonna lie, Smoothie, I admire the moxie.” 

He felt Smoothie smile and puff himself up with pride a little bit, and he liked that more than he’d been expecting. 

“I’m an adult, Nick, I think I can gauge my own interests and abilities,” Smoothie said, his voice still a little bit hoarse. He cleared his throat when Nick’s attentive thumbs gave it a stroke. 

“I really don’t think you can, though, baby.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” said Smoothie with a twinkle in his good eye. “Unless you want to prove me wrong. Test your theory. I’m not as easy to break as you were, Nick.” 

“Fuckin’ adorable,” Nick grumbled. He let his hands trail down the other man’s chest and pushed his shirt over his shoulders, then watched as Smoothie shrugged it off and laid it carefully over the back of the sofa. “Listen, I’ve got my own set of issues, but I’m not interested in fucking you straight to the grave.”

“No need to lie to me.”

“I’m not. It’s not my thing. No judgement, obviously, different strokes for different folks. But relax. I need you alive.”

“You don’t, really,” Smoothie noted. 

“Whatever.”

“You _want_ me alive.”

“Sure, fine, I want you a lot of ways,” Nick said, exasperated. “Speaking of which, can we cut the talking? You’re a real sparkling conversationalist, but I'm starting to get ancy.”

“Poor thing. Must be so inconvenient, your whole body being ruled by what’s between your legs. It’s always been fascinating to me,” Smoothie said, directly ignoring the irritated grumble that Nick let out when he kept talking. One of his hands found Nick’s cock, and the grumble halted immediately when he gave it a stroke. “Ohh, there we go. Good boy. So easy to pacify. The things I’m going to do to this body of yours, Nick—”

“—Stop,” Nick demanded, sharply enough to give Smoothie pause. His fingers found the other man’s hips and closed tight against them, his grip a little bit more harsh and needy than he intended. Smoothie leaned in, intrigued, and Nick caught him and kissed him just to keep him quiet. He let a frustrated groan escape into Smoothie’s mouth. When he finally broke away to put the conversation to rest, his voice came out less measured than he meant. He sounded hasty and even a bit annoyed when he said, “Save the details, save the dirty talk, just give me the five minutes of peace and quiet it’ll take to get me off, Smoothie, then I’ll be your goddamn captive audience, alright?”

“No.”

He said it so simply and authoritatively that Nick almost accepted it as an answer. Smoothie didn’t have the kind of voice that could be easily argued with. Still, Nick scowled and said, “Not a request, buddy.”

“No, you don’t get any requests. You just get to take whatever I give you. What’s that like, Nick?” Smoothie asked in a voice that could have softened steel, pressing in with a predatory little smile. “What’s it like, being such a _bottom_? I can’t imagine.” 

“Mm. Right. Sure you can’t,” Nick snorted while he rolled his eyes. He wanted to say more, wanted to say something clever and biting to really put Smoothie in his place, but the killer’s hand was stroking him faster now, working him past the point of comprehensible speech. Nick hated the glitter of delight that he saw in Smoothie’s eyes. He hated how easy it was to lose the upper hand now that Smoothie knew he wasn’t about to be sent back to hell where he belonged. Mostly he hated how incredible the other man’s touches felt. His body was responding without hesitation, and he knew that Smoothie could tell—the sadistic little shit looked like he was in heaven. 

“Look at you. Mm, just perfect,” he hissed, the terrible smile on his face unwavering while he tugged his belt loose with his free hand. Nick heard the jangle of the buckle coming loose, then the sharp sound of the zipper. “The great, mighty Nick Sax, absolutely helpless. At first I wondered why we kept ending up like this, why destiny kept giving you to me, but I know, now.”

Nick felt him shift, readjust, felt those lips on his neck and in his beard while he listened to the sound of denim peeling away from the other man’s body and crumpling on the floor. He heard the noise that came out of him when his hand clamped down on one of Smoothie’s bare thighs, and it was the kind of sound that someone could’ve blackmailed him with for life if it had been recorded. He let his nails dig in. 

“You crave discipline, Nick. Structure. Organization,” Smoothie sighed lovingly into his ear. “You’ve been out of control for years. I remember hearing stories about the work you did for Blue. Always such messy business, so recklessly executed. But your passion for it made you a diamond in the rough.”

Smoothie caught Nick’s gaze and tried to hold it while he pressed himself up against the hitman’s cock, intent on memorizing every detail of the expression on Nick’s face when they finally felt each other. 

It didn’t disappoint. Nick’s eyes flared wide, a little spark of insanity waking up inside them when the bare expanse between Smoothie’s thighs met his cock. It felt even better than he had imagined, the skin so taut and soft, the scar tissue providing just enough texture to drive him out of his mind with need. Nick let out a profane string of curses and ground himself against the other man’s body. The desperation of it all made Smoothie smile. 

It took every ounce of Smoothie’s self-control to bite back his excitement about having Nick at his mercy. The first thing he wanted to do was ride the poor, broken man to completion—judging by the state of him, Nick wouldn’t last long. Making him enjoy it whether he wanted to or not was one of the most sadistic aspects of this reunion, and one that Smoothie was especially proud of. After all he’d done to destroy this man’s life, forcing him to take pleasure in something was just as effective as making him feel pain. 

He braced himself against Nick’s chest and leaned in with a savoring smile. Nick’s body was thrumming underneath him, firm and tense and begging to be used. 

“At the end of the day, you and I both know that you need to be brought to heel,” he said softly. Nick’s growl of disagreement died in his throat when Smoothie’s hands found his shoulders and pressed him down, encouraging the rest of him to relax. “There, there. You know, I remember how Blue used to pit us against one another, in his own little way. He always told me that I was his most reliable enforcer, but that even I didn’t have the same natural talent for violence as you. I can’t tell you how much that _motivated_ me.”

Nick’s hands wound their way around Smoothie’s wrists and tightened hard enough to cut the circulation off. “Smoothie, I’m—”

“—I know, yes, you’re getting so close,” the killer said hungrily. “Lean into it. Feel it. Feel _me._ ”

He clutched at the back of Nick’s neck and pulled him in, and Nick responded without hesitation. His arms tightened around Smoothie’s body and he ground the other man hard against his cock, his hips working rhythmically into the friction. It felt impossibly good to crush Smoothie in his arms, to rut up against him like an animal in heat, to let his teeth close on Smoothie’s shoulder and then bite down hard when everything became too much to bear. Nick could hear the killer’s light laughter at his ear. When he felt Smoothie’s fingers knot into the hair at the back of his neck and pull tight, the overload of sensation pushed him over the edge. 

A strangled noise escaped him, followed by a series of colorful curses, and then his world fell apart; his body seized and tightened, his fingers digging into Smoothie’s back hard enough to leave bruises while his dick erupted. The hot, sticky sensation of cum splashing across his stomach and chest only heightened the intensity, and when one of Smoothie’s hands trailed down to smear the mess across Nick’s body, he couldn’t help but let out a deep, satisfied groan. 

He could feel Smoothie’s lips working against his ear, even through the delirium. He could hear that light, soothing voice hissing the word “ _Yes_ ,” over and over again while Smoothie’s hand spread the evidence of the deed across the front of Nick’s chest. The gentle touches were an unexpected surprise. Nick let his head fall back into the sofa cushions and sank into the sensation of Smoothie’s body against him. He could feel Smoothie tracing delicate patterns into the hair of his chest with his fingertips, and he hated how sweet and comforting it felt. 

Nick took a minute to catch his breath. Smoothie was already pressing soft kisses against his ear, and it didn’t take him long to trail his lips down to Nick’s chest. Nick’s eyes rolled shut when he felt the killer’s mouth against him, and when Smoothie's tongue found his sternum Nick tightened his grip again to pull him in closer. He buried his face in Smoothie’s crisply parted hair and breathed in the smell of him. 

Even now, all he could smell was chocolate. He wanted more of it. That smell was almost as tantalizing as the sensation of Smoothie’s tongue lapping up the remnants of his orgasm. 

He allowed himself a few moments of deep, contemplative self-hatred while Smoothie cleaned him up. The man was a monster, and there was no doubt about it. He’d done unspeakable things to countless people, he’d broken Nick down in ways that couldn’t be described, and he’d taken Hailey—no, not just taken her. Worse. He had taught her to kill. 

Nick hated the fact that all of it only made him want Smoothie more. 

He sank into the hatred and let his arms tighten around the little man, hard enough to interrupt Smoothie’s cleanup job and force him down into the crook of the embrace. 

The silence went on. He kept expecting Smoothie to make a snide comment, but none came forward. It almost felt like the other man was content to lay there against him, quiet and calm, as if what had just happened was normal. 

Smoothie stayed eerily still in Nick’s arms. He was intently focused on listening to the hitman’s heartbeat, trying to pick up each and every erratic skip in the pulse. He had stopped enough hearts to recognize the irregularities. Nick’s heart was fickle and didn’t work correctly. 

Maybe that was why Smoothie had been able to worm his way into it. 

Nick was the one who finally broke the silence, long after he’d caught his breath. His voice came out softer than he’d intended when he breathed out the words; “Well, fuck me, I guess.” 

He felt Smoothie smile against his skin. The killer shifted in his arms, and then those skilled hands found his face and pulled him into a dark, delicious kiss. Nick didn’t bother to resist when Smoothie’s tongue pushed into him. He let the killer own him for a few moments, giving in to the way that Smoothie eagerly, maybe even excessively, explored his teeth with the tip of his tongue. Even if Nick had wanted to resist, the sweetness of Smoothie’s mouth was impossible to say no to. 

He didn’t want to respond as excitedly as he did, but he couldn’t stop himself. A thousand unspeakable ideas had already entered his mind about what to do next. He had no intention of letting Smoothie leave the house intact. More than anything, he wanted to watch Smoothie limp his way into whatever bullshit local diner he’d picked to discuss their business in. One or two rounds with Nick’s dick would definitely be enough to give the little guy trouble walking. Nick couldn’t _stand_ how much he wanted to see that. 

He readjusted Smoothie’s body against his, all the better to nuzzle into him, and then grumbled a little before admitting, tentatively, “You know, Blue always told me you were his favorite. He called you a gem. Said I was a street mutt, but you were like one of those fancy poodles.”

“Poodles.”

“The dog with the—”

“—I know the dog, Nick,” Smoothie said impatiently. “Bred and groomed for its purpose, for maximum efficiency. Made to be the best. It would almost be a compliment, if Blue didn’t have a history of butchering his dogs.” 

“Yeah, he was a real charmer with the animal abuse, wasn’t he,” Nick muttered sarcastically, pressing a halfhearted kiss against Smoothie’s forehead. “Like someone else I know.”

Smoothie let out a dismissive noise, even going so far as to free one of his hands from Nick’s embrace just to wave it to the side, laissez-faire. “Animals are only a means to an end. I outgrew them a long time ago.”

“Right. Bigger fish to fry.” 

“Indeed.”

“Me, for instance.”

“No, you wouldn’t respond well to electrocution. The nerve pain would be too tolerable for you, and besides, the cardiac risks rule it out as an option,” Smoothie said in a casual, calculating tone. “Believe me, I’ve run the numbers over and over again. Some things just aren’t meant to be.” 

“What a shame,” Nick deadpanned. 

“Thankfully, I am a creative problem solver,” said Smoothie. “A little _imagination_ was all I needed to find out how to crack through your shell.”

Nick frowned up at the ceiling and tried not to visualize what sort of imaginary friend Smoothie might have come up with as a child; each idea that flashed through his mind was more horrible than the last. It was a menagerie of increasingly bloody abominations. Even though he did his best to wipe the thoughts out, he still settled on one that he could see Smoothie being fond of—it was an inside out lapcat.

“Imagination,” he grumbled under his breath, shifting uncomfortably into the cushions. 

“It’s the heart of our work, isn’t it,” Smoothie sighed. He pushed himself up and disentangled himself from Nick’s limbs, then scanned the floor for his clothes and collected them. When he examined the damage that had been done to his shirt, he tutted disapprovingly and folded it up. 

Nick listened to the sounds of Smoothie tugging his jeans back on. When the killer stood and stole away with his ruined shirt in hand, down towards a hallway that presumably led to a bedroom, Nick felt his absence more sharply than he’d expected. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. 

_Fuck_ , he thought to himself. _Some revenge killing this turned out to be_. 

He was sluggish and wanted to take a nap, preferably in an open grave somewhere, preferably forever. The only place that had slightly more appeal was whatever room Smoothie had vanished into. Nick wanted to follow him. He wanted to grab whatever fresh new shirt Smoothie had chosen and rip it worse than the first one, and then rip another one just because he knew how much it would make Smoothie’s blood boil. 

It occurred to him suddenly how frustrating it was that Smoothie could walk away from him like that. Nick had just gotten off and was already strategizing obsessively for round two. He envied the fact that Smoothie didn’t seem to be affected by the same instincts. 

Nick zipped his pants back up and found his shirt. He wiped the last remnants of cum from his chest with the balled up garment before shaking it out and putting it back on. Thankfully, Smoothie didn’t come back into the room in time to see it. 

Nick shrugged on his coat and tossed the scarf over his head, and when he turned around, Smoothie was already behind him. 

The killer was smiling. In the time that it had taken for Nick to get off the sofa, Smoothie had already put on a pressed white shirt, a tie, and a pair of round red glasses. He looked Nick up and down, clicked his tongue approvingly, and then brushed past him towards the door. He pulled a jacket from the coat rack and swiped his keys from a peg on the wall, then looked expectantly at Nick. 

“Coming?” he said. 

“Sure, I could go for another, if you’re offering.” 

Smoothie smirked. “All in due time, Nick. But we have a murder to plan. Hop to it.”

He opened the door and stepped out jauntily onto the porch. Nick grumbled a little before following. 


	2. Chapter 2

In the car Nick didn’t know what to say, or how to sit comfortably. He felt awkward in the passenger’s seat. The sound of Smoothie’s seatbelt clicking shut was wrong, it was something to be ashamed about; there was no excuse for the fact that he had kept the killer alive. 

He was relatively sure that he’d come to extract his revenge, but the evidence proved otherwise. Nick was still enough of a detective to put those pieces together. 

He was too hardened by life to feel guilty about wanting Smoothie. That part was understandable. Nick had been halfheartedly intrigued by the idea of his rival long before they’d ever met, back when he was drinking himself to death and working for Blue full time. He could still remember the first time he laid eyes on Smoothie. He’d been surprised and more than a little bit turned on by how small and sprightly the killer looked, even back then, but it hadn’t exactly been an ideal meet-cute. If things hadn’t snowballed the way that they did last Christmas, he probably would’ve drunkenly requested the killer’s cell number from Blue on some night that he was feeling particularly self-loathing. 

Still, it was hard in the present moment to justify the fact that he was in the same passenger’s seat Hailey once sat in. Even though it had all been done to get to Nick, Smoothie had still gone after Hailey and Amanda with the same trademark ruthlessness he’d used on Blue’s enemies. Forgiving a blood debt like that wasn’t exactly Nick’s style. 

Then again, overthinking things wasn’t Nick’s style, either. When he buckled his seatbelt and cast a glance in Smoothie’s direction, he didn’t look too deeply into the fact that looking at the other man made something stir in the pit of his stomach. He watched Smoothie’s red rabbit eye flash toward the rear view mirror when he put the car in reverse, and didn’t bother to fight the smile it brought to his face. 

“Who did that to you, anyway?” Nick asked. 

“Did what?”

“The eye.”

“Oh. That,” Smoothie said disdainfully. He hit the gas, and the two of them were on the road. “Sonny Shine. Found me in his studio before I bled out, I suppose, then did what he wanted with me. It could have been worse.”

“Right, he could’ve pissed on you, or something.”

Smoothie bit his tongue and simmered quietly. 

“Sorry, right, not fair, low blow,” Nick scoffed, brushing it off. “Sonny Shine, eh? He was deep into some freaky shit.”

“And you took a bullet for him,” Smoothie said pointedly. He clicked his turn signal harder than he needed to for emphasis and cast Nick a side eye while checking for other cars. “The man I put months of careful planning into killing. At least your charming ex-wife finished the job for me. A shame, though. I made sure Hailey was a good shot.”

“Don’t talk about Hailey,” Nick warned him.

“Why not?”

“You know exactly why the fuck not.”

“Ahh, you’re still angry?”

“I—yes, Jesus Christ, I’m still angry,” Nick sputtered in disbelief. “You traumatized her, you kidnapped her, you—”

“—Never talked much to her, did you?”

“Pull the car over and say that again.”

“Mm, no. She was traumatized long before I got to her. That’s why she was so susceptible to manipulation. So easily gaslit.”

“Pull over.”

“Why? So you can smack me around a little? Will that make you feel better?” Smoothie asked, a wry smile creeping across his face. 

“No, so I can break your neck,” Nick snapped. “Which I’m realizing I should have done when I had the chance.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I  _ really _ do, though.”

“Nick, believe me, I’m happy to let you touch me however you like once we’ve parked,” Smoothie said impatiently. “Feel free to break my neck then, but it won’t bring your daughter back, and it won’t change what’s already been done. Hailey has a bright future ahead of her, I’d say, following in her father’s footsteps.”

One of Nick’s hands shot out and clamped around Smoothie’s wrist on the steering wheel. He watched the killer’s red eye flare wide with panic when he assumed control and swerved the car sharply to the side, scraping it hard against the guard rail on the side of the road. The brakes screamed when Smoothie hit them, and by the time the car jerked to a stop, Nick’s other hand was already around his neck. 

“Wait, wait—wait, have to park it,” Smoothie said far too calmly, his fingers feeling for the gear shift. Nick smacked his hand away and jammed the vehicle into park, then closed his other hand around the killer’s neck. They were pulled over on the grass, but the vehicle thrummed and shook every time a car zoomed by on the road, the same way that Smoothie’s heartbeat sped up every time Nick readjusted his grip. 

Nick wanted to do it. Part of him wanted it more than anything, wanted to see the light go out of that one pretty brown eye when he finally finished the deed. But another part of him only wanted to throw Smoothie into the backseat and fuck him until he apologized. Nick assumed that the first part was his brain and the second part was his penis, and he probably wasn’t far off. 

He was hypnotized by the way Smoothie’s lips curled invitingly to smile at him. 

“Go on, Nick,” Smoothie said softly, as if he genuinely wanted it. “You can have me.”

“I know, I want to. I want to,” Nick growled, half to himself. He let his hands tighten a little and watched what it did to the killer’s face. Smoothie’s brows furrowed in an adorable pout, though his lips only followed suit when he felt Nick hesitating. He matched the hitman’s gaze and exaggerated the expression until it became almost irresistible. 

“Changed your mind again? You’re so hot and cold with me, it breaks my heart,” Smoothie sighed, sounding disappointed. He let one of his hands find Nick’s cheek. The bristles of the hitman’s beard prickled underneath his fingertips while Nick leaned involuntarily into his touch. Smoothie thought about it and then said, “Let’s agree to settle it after dinner. You can take some time to think. I won’t be any harder to kill after I’ve had a cup of coffee.”

“Why don’t you care?” Nick demanded under his breath. “You want to die, is that it?”

“Far from it. I want to feel alive,” Smoothie said. “And right now I feel very,  _ very _ alive. You have that effect on me. If you kill me now, or later, or tomorrow, I’ll still consider it a win.”

“Why?”

He relaxed his hands a little. Smoothie smiled and leaned into it, then said, “When Meredith McCarthy shot me last Christmas, I remember thinking to myself that it was  _ completely _ worth it. It was all worth it just to have Nick Sax, for a few moments, all to myself. Just look at us now. I’ve won in every way that matters. Killing me doesn’t even make a statement, at this point, it’s just a motion to go through. All it will do is leave you alone in the world. You know, the thing that  _ really _ excites me is wondering whether or not you’ll cry afterward.”

“Really, now.”

“I can see you getting choked up about it already.”

“You need your eyes checked. Understandable, what with the fucked up one.”

Smoothie only smirked and stayed quiet. 

He wasn’t the type to die without getting a last word in. His silence was a clear indication that he knew Nick’s anger was all bluster. One of his hands gently worked Nick’s fingers off of his throat, and they slid reluctantly down to the knot of his tie. Nick’s thumbs stroked the fabric. 

“I hate you,” he said, sincerely. His voice was low and grim, but his breath was heavy. “I hate you more than anything, Smoothie.”

“Music to my ears.”

“I fucking hate you,” Nick growled insatiably, his fingers tightening around Smoothie’s tie and pulling it taut. Smoothie’s breath hissed in sharply through his teeth just before Nick kissed him. Nick couldn’t feel anything but anger and blind need, and the sensation of Smoothie leaning so willingly and submissively into his kiss was dangerously addictive. He still wanted to snap Smoothie’s neck, yes, but the satisfaction of the killer’s mouth melting into his own was impossible to resist. 

Before he knew it, he was kissing Smoothie as if his life depended on it and trying to tear the tie loose from his neck. He felt Smoothie laugh into the kiss and then try to disengage from it—it took him a minute or two to really put any effort into it, though, and he let Nick tug his tie off roughly before finally pushing him away. 

“Mixed signals, Sax,” he said delicately against Nick’s lips. His body was straining against the confines of the seatbelt. “Kiss me or kill me. You can have both if that’s what you want, but we can’t linger on the edge of it forever.”

“We can’t,” Nick agreed breathlessly. He pulled Smoothie into one more long, indulgent kiss and tried to sink into the taste of him. All he wanted was to take Smoothie back to the house, push him up against the wall of his own creepy, hidden sex dungeon, and fuck him senseless. Nick knew his mind wouldn’t come to rest until he’d gotten what he needed out of the other man, and more than anything he needed to feel him from the inside out. 

Smoothie kissed him back without a hint of resistance. The way that Nick oscillated between cruelty and confusion was something that the killer found infinitely satisfying, even more satisfying than any of the kisses. He couldn’t have planned it any better. He’d gotten away with doing countless unspeakable things to Nick Sax, only to have Nick come crawling back to him, alone and drunk and full of white hot need. It was everything he’d wanted and more. 

Still, he pressed his hands against Nick’s chest and felt the man pull back reluctantly. It was always a nice surprise when Nick decided to be obedient, nice enough to make Smoothie want to push the limits of it, but now wasn’t the time or the place. 

He found the tie Nick had torn from his neck and threw it into the backseat before putting the car in drive again. At first Nick lingered too close, as if he still hadn’t decided whether to back down or not, but he eventually settled into his seat. Smoothie saw him run his hands over his face and up into his hair in an exaggerated, exasperated gesture. 

He didn’t say anything. It was enough to stay silent and let Nick torture himself. 

Smoothie’s car scraped off of the guard rail with an ugly scream of metal grating against metal. Once they were back on the road he glanced into the rear view mirror to try and assess the damage to his vehicle—naturally, it was extensive. That was alright, though. Smoothie was all too willing to forgive Nick’s destructive behaviors. He wanted to encourage them as much as possible.

They spent the rest of the trip in silence, and then Smoothie pulled the car into the parking lot of an unassuming 1950’s-style roadside diner. It looked fast and cheap, which Nick appreciated. The hostess inside tossed two paper menus into a nearby booth and then returned immediately to a game on her phone without exchanging a word with either of them. 

At first the two hitmen didn’t say anything to one another, either. Nick watched Smoothie’s rabbit eye jolt up and down once before centering itself again. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to keep gazing into it like this or whether he wanted to pluck it out and make Smoothie swallow it. 

“Alright. Orcus,” Nick said, straight to the point, while he scanned the menu. It was the kind of diner where the only thing he’d be wise to trust would be the all-day breakfast. Even this far from the city, it was impossible to fuck up breakfast. 

“I didn’t realize the two of you had met. We just keep finding friends in common, don’t we?” Smoothie said conversationally. 

“Big city, small world.”

“And you want him dead. May I ask why?”

Nick shifted irregularly in his seat. “He sold me on a bad deal.”

“Did he, now? He was perfectly fair with me.”

“Different arrangement.” 

“What kind of arrangement?”

Nick didn’t get a chance to respond before a waiter appeared. A brief exchange about breakfast and a request for coffee sent the intruder on his way again, and Nick turned his attention back to Smoothie, who was leaning across the table with his hands folded. He looked intrigued by the new information. Nick decided to blow his mind. 

“So there’s heaven, first off,” he started, watching the skepticism creep across Smoothie’s face. “I know, I know, sounds wild, doesn’t it? Obviously the best part is that if there’s heaven, then there must also be a cozy spot in hell reserved just for you.” 

“Delightful. How drunk were you when you came to this realization?”

“I was dead. Flatlined. Dead, Smoothie,” Nick said again, trying to get the severity of the information across. He let his gaze bore into Smoothie’s and they had a little staring match, which ended when Smoothie furrowed his brows and frowned. 

“Obviously not,” he said. 

“Obviously so, actually. I’m not sure how much you’ve been paying attention. I get that you’re wrapped up in your own little world, but come on, you had to have noticed the alien shit.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. So, back in the Etruscan age—”

“—Let me stop you there,” Smoothie said, holding up a hand sharply. He froze there while the waiter delivered a smoking pot of coffee and two cups, then smiled and said, “I know you have quite a history of substance abuse, Nick. I’m sure you believe whatever it is that you’re telling me. But Blue had some sort of psychotic break, that’s the reality of the situation. He’s still a problem, of course. But his, well…supernatural claims, let’s call them, are nonsense. Tricks of the mind.” 

“Tricks. Nice. Didn’t you ever see him do the suicide thing?”

“The what?”

“He really didn’t tell you  _ any _ of this?”

Smoothie pressed his lips together to bite back a bitter frown, then poured himself a cup of black coffee and took a sip while it was still billowing steam. “He and I worked on the one project together, then parted ways. No need for getting into personal details.” 

“I hate that you’re the one who’s been in the eye of the magical hurricane this entire time,” Nick growled. He wondered for a few moments whether Smoothie was lying. Between Nick’s experiences with imaginary friends, death gods, and Amanda’s alien pregnancy, it was hard to believe that Smoothie had been so deeply involved with Blue and Sonny Shine without heavy exposure to the supernatural. 

In the lull he saw something change in Smoothie’s face, as if he’d just recollected something faraway. 

“You know, there was one thing that always perplexed me,” the killer admitted. 

“Which one?”

“When they spoke to me, just the once. Sonny’s... _ things _ . It was like the words were being written inside my mind, one by one. Etched into the inside of the skull.”

“Right, telepathy.” 

“You say that as if it’s nothing. That’s why no one trusts your judgment.”

Nick smirked and poured himself a coffee. He grabbed a creamer and two sugars from the table. When he poured the sugar in, Smoothie’s nose wrinkled in distaste. 

“They did telepathy on you, then? And you still don’t believe me?” Nick asked. He thought about it for a moment, then changed tactics. “Okay, my death certificate. Look it up.”

“I have one framed,” Smoothie said. 

“Aww, that’s sweet of you.”

“Records are easily fudged, nursing staff easily bribed. I assume you faked it all to get your enemies off your back.”

“Meaning you.”

“Yet you don’t seem to want me off your back.”

“Suspicious, isn’t it? Obviously I know something that you don’t, otherwise I’d be washing pieces of you off my hands right now.”

Smoothie narrowed his eyes and sipped his coffee. He watched Nick for a few moments, his head tilting to the side just a little, and then said, “Suppose I hear you out, purely for the entertainment value. What do I get in return?”

“What, just for hearing me out?” 

“Time is money, Nick.”

“A blowjob,” the hitman offered sarcastically, following it up with an exaggerated cringe. “Aw, wait, no dick. Maybe it’s the thought that counts?”

“It isn’t.”

“Fine. Alright, fine,” Nick grumbled. “What’s your friends and family rate, hourly or whatever?”

“My friends and family rate for the basic package is nine thousand and eight hundred dollars, though your choice of target is going to cost you more dearly,” said Smoothie, clipped and businesslike. He smiled when Nick’s eyes went wide at the number. 

“Nine—damn. Blue must’ve been short changing me all those years.”

“He wasn’t. I have a very specialized set of skills. Yours are easier to come by. Anyone can be paid to pull a trigger, after all.” 

“Right, but not just anyone can get artistic about it, I get it. You’re the priciest piece of ass in the red light district. That being said, what’s your life worth? Think it evens out, price-wise? One for one?”

Smoothie’s grin widened and he stretched back easily into his side of the booth. Nick caught himself examining the buttons on the killer’s shirt with hungry eyes, and he tried not to think about how good it would feel to rip them. He didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole again. He didn’t even want to think the words  _ rabbit hole  _ again either, in fact. He was just starting to sweat over the long list of miserable rabbit-themed innuendos to avoid when the waiter interrupted his daydream with a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Nick immediately started in on it to distract himself. 

Smoothie pushed a few things around on his plate with his fork, then said, “You talk as if you plan to offer me my life in exchange for my help. Give up on getting revenge. Believe me, it’s very romantic, Nick, but it’s not realistic. Our dance doesn’t end until one of us is dead.”

Nick wanted to bore the image of the afterlife into Smoothie’s mind telepathically. The fact that he knew it was hypothetically possible to do that made it even more frustrating that he couldn’t. He wanted to point out that he  _ was _ already dead, that there  _ were _ actually worse things than death, and that he’d gotten himself into one of those very things. There was only one thing that he knew would make Smoothie want to believe him, and his whole body squirmed in protest at the very idea of sharing it. 

He steeled himself and took a glance around the diner to make sure no one was paying attention, then pulled his flask out and emptied a shot of whiskey into his coffee for confidence before chugging it in one go. 

He brought the mug back down and hated himself for exactly three seconds. 

Once the three seconds were up, he looked Smoothie in the eye again. 

“You were right, you made sure she was a good shot,” he said seriously. He saw Smoothie’s whole body incline towards him, as if he were coiling to strike. “She would’ve got Sonny right between the ribs. Good angle and everything. How long did it take you to teach her that?” 

“Not long. Only an afternoon. She’s very bright.”

“You saw the shot. You know the gun. I’m guessing you and I have both shot enough people like that to know I can’t still be breathing, and you know I didn’t have a vest,” Nick said. When Smoothie shrugged reluctantly, he went on. “I  _ wasn’t _ breathing. They autopsied me and everything. Doesn’t matter, I was already in heaven. And while I was there, Orcus came to me. Made me an offer. He said he could bring me back to my family, but I knew they were better off without me, so I told him to go fuck himself.”

“Is there a point to this hallucination?”

“Hush. I told him to go fuck himself, but then he brought up the one thing he knew I couldn’t say no to. And it was—ah, fuck,” Nick grumbled and rolled his eyes. He let out a growl of stress, took one more shot from his flask, and then spat out the word, “— _ you _ . It was you, Smoothie.”

He saw Smoothie’s shoulders sink a little, watched his face soften almost imperceptibly. Nick continued, “He reminded me that you were still out there, probably gloating over your big fuckin victory, and I couldn’t leave it like that. Couldn’t let it end like that.”

He tried to get the point across with his eyes when he said, “I left a cosmic unending orgy. I crawled out of a fucking incinerator. I did it all to get back to you, because here’s the reality of the situation, Smoothie: whatever happened between us is already over. It ended when the bullet from my daughter’s gun took me down.  _ You won _ .”

Nick liked the way those words affected the killer. He saw Smoothie’s whole body react, watched his chest cave in a little as if something had forced the breath out of him. One of his hands found its way through the maze of breakfast items to meet the back of Nick’s knuckles, and when he touched them, Nick went ahead and laced their fingers together. 

“Say it again,” Smoothie demanded quietly, letting his eyes close and then leaning in to savor the words once more. 

“You won. I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it, if that’s what gets you off,” Nick growled. 

“Ohh, it does,” Smoothie sighed, his voice so low that Nick had to lean in to hear it. “More than anything in the world.”

“Mm. Things to keep in mind. But back to the main issue; Orcus brought me back so that I could kill you. In return, he owns my ass until the end of time. Clean trade. He figured I wouldn’t see what he was doing, I guess. But after the first few days of staking out your little suburban hideaway, I realized what he really wanted,” Nick said. By now Smoothie was invested in the story, both eyes sharp and fixed on Nick, his fingers squeezing Nick’s own where they met. It was starting to feel pleasant, and Nick didn’t want to think about that right now. “He wanted to trick me. I guess he figured it would be funny, right? A little sick irony? Because the longer I watched you, the more I realized—if Orcus had heard of me, then he’d sure as hell heard of you, too.”

“We both had unique reputations,” Smoothie said. 

“Exactly. And if I were to kill you…”

Nick paused, waiting for Smoothie to connect the dots, but it didn’t happen. Smoothie only looked at him expectantly. That was fair; he wasn’t as inclined toward the dealings of otherworldly entities as Nick was. He also didn’t have the same knack for detective work, apparently. 

“...Then he’d just offer you the same deal,” Nick finished. “Bring you back. I’m sure you’re the kind of person who’d agree to that just for funsies, but you know Orcus, he knows how to sweeten the pot. Having me already in his pocket meant that you’d never be able to turn him down, but he didn’t just want me. He wanted us both.” 

He saw the haze of confusion lift from Smoothie’s face that told him he’d gotten the point across. Smoothie’s fingers withdrew from his own and slid back down to the edge of the table in an icy gesture. 

“Until the end of time, you said,” he recalled. He didn’t sound skeptical anymore, only a little bit hurt. 

“Right,” Nick clarified. “To work for him, I guess. He’s already got Blue’s body, why not go for Blue’s two best men while he’s at it?”

Smoothie regarded him for a moment in silence, and then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Suppose I like the idea, what then?” he said.

“Oh, I knew you would. I mean come on, what’s not to love? You and me, dream team for the rest of eternity? I’ll bet that sounds like heaven to a workaholic like you.” 

Smoothie’s vision of heaven was very different, much more red and much more viscous, but he didn’t bother to point that out. He watched a big, lazy smile spread across Nick’s face when the hitman leaned in again and pointed at him emphatically. 

“But I came up with something I think you’ll like better,” Nick said. “Sure, we can hate each other until the sun explodes, work for a total asshole, and get weirdly bored of one another’s company exactly seven years in while wondering why we ever thought it was a good idea to make a billion-year deal. Sounds adorable. Very romcom. Alternatively, you can help me get out of that shitbag of a deal, and then you and I can ride off into the sunset until—”

“—Until one of us is dead.”

“And stays that way.” 

“All the time in the world, knowing you’ll hate every second of it.”

“Or an absolute maximum of three decades, given the state of my heart, knowing that I’m willing to, you know,” Nick said, with a vague gesture. “Tolerate you.”

Smoothie pushed his plate to the side, having barely touched it, and fetched his wallet from his jacket pocket. He laid a sleek black credit card on the edge of the table for the waiter, and then looked back up at Nick. The hitman’s eyes were always so bright, so genuine. Right now, without the fire of violence brimming behind them, Smoothie found them especially beguiling. 

“What’s to stop you from killing me once Orcus is dealt with?” he asked. 

“Nothing but your sparkling personality.”

“No guarantee?”

“No guarantee. After all, I’m still about thirty percent sure you’re gonna choke to death on my dick tonight, so this conversation might be moot.”

Smoothie’s face didn’t react at all, but Nick saw his red eye dart to the side, and then the killer rapped his fingertips on the surface of the table. 

“Thirty percent?” he said, coolly. 

“To be fair, I’ve lost more bets than I’ve won.”

The waiter swiped the credit card off the edge of the table. In a few moments he returned it with a paper receipt, and Smoothie folded both back into his wallet before sliding his sunglasses back on. 

“Final question. You’re certain that he can die?” he asked, unfolding himself from the table. Nick followed after finishing up the last dregs of his coffee. 

“More than thirty percent, that’s for sure,” he said, pushing through the door and back out into the cold autumn air. “Thankfully I know a guy who’s an expert at figuring out what can die and what can’t, and how to make it happen. Who knew I’d be in need of a friend like that, right?”

“Like I said, I’m a specialist,” Smoothie said on the way back to the car. Before parting ways to head to the driver’s side, he turned to the other man and held out one hand. Nick wondered if there was some sort of electric buzzer in it, or a hidden needle, or something, but when he grasped it and shook it, he didn’t feel any pain. 

“We have a deal,” Smoothie said. His grip tightened and he pulled Nick closer, all the better to flash him a sinister smile. “See, Nick? Destiny.”

Nick’s blood boiled a little bit when he heard the word. He smirked down at the other man and let his lips hover dangerously near Smoothie’s ear just long enough to say, “You’re gonna regret the fuck out of this so-called destiny, I promise you that.”

“We’ll see,” Smoothie said mischievously, just before he slipped out of Nick’s grip and off towards the driver's seat. 

Nick hated the fact that even the tiniest moments of closeness with Smoothie always got him a little bit hard, but then again, better a reliable erection than none at all. He shrugged the thought out of his mind, pointedly adjusted his belt, and deposited himself into the car again. 

Smoothie made it clear immediately that he wasn’t interested in chatting any further. Once he’d started the engine, he turned the radio on and moved the dial up high enough to drown out any potential conversations. Nick was all too happy to stare out the window and lose himself for a few minutes. The flask in his coat kept him occupied enough on the way back, and by the time Smoothie pulled the car back into his driveway, Nick was feeling buzzed enough to handle anything. He finished off the flask for good measure before unbuckling his seatbelt and heaving himself out of the car. 

He staggered on his feet a little and caught himself on the hood of the vehicle on his way to the door. If Smoothie noticed, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just unlocked the door, vanished inside, and left it open for Nick invitingly. 

Nick stared at the door hanging open on the hinges and tried not to think about what was going to happen inside. He knew he wanted it, but that in and of itself was so,  _ so _ wrong. He pawed at his pocket for the flask again, remembered that he’d just emptied the last of it, and grumbled under his breath before heading into the house. 

Smoothie was already picking up bits and pieces that had been left in disarray around the coffee table. 

“Who do I have to blow to get a drink in this place?” Nick demanded, shaking the empty flask. 

“You seem keen on blacking out,” Smoothie noted. He stood up with a coffee cup in his hand and didn’t let go of it, which made Nick narrow his eyes—it looked like the type of item that could pass for an improvised weapon. 

“This is my daily maintenance drinking, not blackout drinking,” Nick said. He crossed the room with an aggressive swagger and clinked his flask against Smoothie’s coffee cup hard enough to make the other man’s eyes snap shut in irritation. “C’mon, you’ve got good taste. I’ll bet you have a bottle of something nice around here.” 

“I have several,” Smoothie said. He pried the flask gently out of Nick’s hand and smiled up at him before slipping it emphatically into the front of the hitman’s waistband. Nick’s breath halted unevenly in response to the touch, which Smoothie found extremely hard to resist. He took a moment to admire how heavily Nick was breathing before leaning in to say into his ear, “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll go fetch one.”

“Make it two, and no. Handshake or no handshake, I’m not letting you out of my sight, sneaky bastard,” Nick informed him. 

“You’ll learn to trust me,” Smoothie said, matter-of-factly. He let one of his hands press up against Nick’s chest, roving underneath his coat to feel the rise and fall of his breath. The rhythm was even more tempting than the heat and closeness of Nick’s body. He wanted to feel it against the rest of him. 

“Probably will, against my better judgment. But I don’t trust you yet,” Nick said. “You’re not pouring me any drinks until I’m certain I won’t wake up tied to a radiator. Not interested in starring in another one of your little home movies.” 

Nick let himself lean in dangerously close, knowing full well how much it would excite the other man, and then pushed him unceremoniously toward the kitchen with a rude smack on the ass. “Now lead the way, cottontail.” 

Smoothie didn’t like the attitude. He had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to bite back a death threat. He’d grown used to being bossed around by Blue and then by Sonny Shine, but he had no intention of letting Nick Sax form the habit if the two of them were meant to work together. 

“Listen to me  _ very _ carefully,” he said pointedly, slapping Nick’s hand away from his back pocket, where it still lingered. Nick tried to laugh it off and catch him in a kiss, but Smoothie’s teeth put a stop to it with one sharp snap. Nick recoiled immediately, tasting blood. 

“Fucking—god,” he managed. “Right through the—”

Smoothie snapped his fingers in front of the hitman’s face to cut him off. “Listening?”

“Fuck you, I’m listening!”

“That one was a warning,” Smoothie told him point blank. He held up one finger and waved it in front of Nick’s face until the hitman’s eyes started following it. “The next one won’t be, do you understand?”

“Got it,” Nick growled. He rubbed the broken spot on his bottom lip and wondered how Smoothie’s teeth had clipped it so perfectly. A nauseated chill ran down his spine when he realized it was likely something the killer had practiced before, probably on countless others, and probably not consensually. 

“I like our deal, Nick. And you know how much I like your…well. Let’s just call it your personality,” Smoothie said, with an appreciative glance up and down the other man’s body. “But if the two of us are going to enjoy each other’s company, then you’ll have to learn how to behave. If you don’t learn on your own, then I’m going to have to teach you. I promise you won’t enjoy my instruction.”

“Starting to sound like I might, actually, you don’t know what I’m into,” Nick muttered under his breath. 

He saw the first hint of a smile flickering at the corners of Smoothie’s mouth, then saw him swipe his tongue over his teeth, as if he could still taste something of Nick’s lip there. The sight of it was strangely mesmerizing. 

Nick took advantage of the opportunity to loom closer and back the killer up against the wall again. Even though Smoothie let out an irritated little noise, he couldn’t hide the thrill that passed over his face when Nick’s arms trapped him on either side to pin him in place. Nick wiped the blood from his bottom lip lazily with one thumb and then pressed it against Smoothie’s own lips. He met resistance at first, but smiled when he felt the killer’s mouth open for him a few moments later. It was cute that Smoothie couldn’t resist a taste of him, even when he was angry.

“You’re right though, shouldn’t have smacked you, I’m usually such a gentleman,” Nick sighed while he watched Smoothie’s eyes roll shut and felt his teeth close experimentally. “You bring out the worst in me, I guess. Thought you might like that. Ooh, ouch.”

Smoothie’s teeth scraped hard over Nick’s knuckle and a little bit painfully down his nail, then shut with an audible snap once Nick’s thumb was free. The way his tongue moved over his lips afterward did something inexplicable to Nick’s body; he couldn’t help but watch it, want it, wish that he were underneath it. He already wanted to taste it again. When he leaned in to try, he felt one of Smoothie’s hands stop him. 

“Believe me,” the killer said gently, tracing the front of Nick’s chest now with newfound appreciation. “I  _ do _ like having that effect on you, as long as you remember which one of us is in charge.”

“Hearing you say shit like that makes me want to break you into a hundred pieces like a sexy little jigsaw puzzle,” Nick growled against him, noting that the idea made Smoothie take a moment to breathlessly collect himself. 

That was enough to make Nick give in. He let his arms close around the other man’s waist and leaned into him with a hungry growl, loving the fact that all he could feel now was Smoothie pulling him in closer by the scarf. He found the killer’s lips with his own and sank into how soft and sweet they were. He didn’t even mind the way Smoothie’s tongue and teeth pulled at the wound on his lower lip. It hurt deliciously, and that only made him want more. Nick had never pegged himself for much of a masochist, but then again, a lot had changed since his first...well, pegging. 

That reminded him of what he really wanted, and he pushed Smoothie firmly into the wall with one hand to break the kiss. The little man’s expression was unabashed and greedy. Nick admired it for a moment and then said, “I think it’s about time you and I get even, Smoothie.” 

The killer smiled and laid his head back against the wall to look up into Nick’s face. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“How crowded is that sex dungeon?”

“More than you’ll find appealing.”

“Still shucking off mobsters?”

“I’m on a sabbatical from work.” 

“Eughhh. Bad guys, at least?”

“I don’t discriminate,” Smoothie said, with a helpless little shrug and a disarming smile. 

“Bunch of innocent bystanders down there?”

“Oops.”

“You know we’re gonna have to work on the whole serial killer thing.”

“You’ll just have to work on accepting my eccentricities.”

Nick loomed over him and enjoyed the sensation of Smoothie pressing himself back into the wall. The anticipation behind their little dance was so tantalizing that Nick was loath to finally end it, but he’d waited too long to hold back. 

“Tell me where the bedroom is, then,” he said in the most sober voice he could manage. He pushed his lips against Smoothie’s ear to say, definitively, “And bring two bottles, like I said.” 

“Hallway, upstairs, door’s on the left,” Smoothie said immediately, trying to keep himself together while Nick’s beard nuzzled into his neck. He felt Nick smile against him and then in an instant the hitman was gone, lumbering off in the direction of the stairs and leaving him frozen there against the wall, wanting more. Smoothie peeled himself away from the surface and readjusted his mussed up collar. His skin felt hot all of a sudden, even though the heat of Nick’s body was gone, and he found himself undoing his top buttons to cool down. 

He shook off the sensation and headed into the kitchen. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he kept a few bottles of wine and the basic ingredients for a gin and tonic around, both in case of company and to keep up the appearance of normalcy. He selected a classic red, and then thought about it for a moment before grabbing the bottle of gin in addition. 

There was a syringe in the back of his liquor cabinet full of generalized anesthetic, already ready to go. Smoothie cocked his head and considered it for a few moments. 

It would be  _ so _ much fun to double-cross Nick now, he thought, just when the hitman had settled into a loose facsimile of comfort. Nick had left him alone, after all. He’d been too distracted to remember his own well-placed paranoia. Smoothie knew that slipping the syringe into his pocket would be easy. Dosing Nick’s drink would be even easier. 

But what would be the point? 

There was no artistry in it, he realized as he thought about how it would play out; Nick would wake up strapped to some creative piece of furniture and say something blithely comical, and then what? He would be fun to play with, but Smoothie had already ruined him in every way that mattered. At this point, he’d be nothing more than a sentimental souvenir. 

But while Nick was still free, unpredictable and wild, then he was still an interesting source of entertainment. The hitman was the only truly worthy adversary Smoothie had ever met. Picking him off now while the stakes were so low wouldn’t be sportsmanlike. 

Besides, this was the first time he’d ever had what he  _ really _ wanted; Nick Sax, all to himself. 

Smoothie left the syringe in the back of the cabinet. There was an extra one somewhere in his bedroom anyway, in case he changed his mind. 

Upstairs, Nick had already located the bedroom and thrown his coat and scarf onto the floor. The room was neat and white, and the bed was made perfectly, as if Smoothie never slept in it at all. The furniture was classic and wooden, probably picked up from some local antique store in the Catskills, and Nick found that odd—Smoothie had always struck him as more of a contemporary city-slicker. 

Nick tossed himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, then grumbled and pulled his flask from the front of his pants. It was still disgustingly empty, definitely too empty for him to feel comfortable with the fact that he was laying on Smoothie’s mattress. Maybe a million aeons of service to Orcus  _ was _ a better alternative than the guilt that he felt right now in the core of his chest. Then again, Nick was no stranger to self-loathing. His internal sense of general hate for himself had only grown since his resurrection. Maybe that was why he was so susceptible to Smoothie’s wiles. After all, no one ever looked at him quite as hungrily as Smoothie did. No one touched him the way Smoothie did, as if his body were something worth memorizing for sinister purposes. 

He heard Smoothie coming up the stairs and closed his eyes, hoping to stave off the inevitable moment of weird, uncomfortable intimacy. 

It wasn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it would be. Smoothie came into the room, sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a bottle into the hitman’s hand, which Nick reflexively unscrewed and sat up to take a swig from. He drank as if he were trying to drown himself, and then gargled obnoxiously before smacking his lips. 

“Good shit,” he noted in a brusque voice, looking down at the label. It was gin, top shelf. “Mixing that would be a crime.”

Smoothie smiled and set a bottle of wine on the nightstand, then settled to untie his shoes. Nick kept waiting for him to pull a knife. All of the killer’s motions were too mundane, so much different from the Smoothie that he was used to. An attack of some sort would at least be something that Nick knew how to predict. 

“You seem tense,” Smoothie said before settling himself back against the pillows. 

“What, with you watching me like a hawk? Why would I be tense?” Nick said sarcastically, taking another swig. “You’re the tense one. Bed looking like a fucking hotel.” 

“Mm, and you’re a mean drunk,” Smoothie noted. He grinned wide when he saw Nick’s lip curl back into a defensive scowl. “With a temper like that, it’s no wonder you couldn’t keep your wife interested.”

“Kept you interested, though.”

Nick let himself fall flat onto the bed again on his back, the bottle sloshing in his hand, and managed to awkwardly pour himself another mouthful of gin before screwing the top back on. He let the whole thing fall to the carpet below with a muffled clink, and then turned his head lazily in Smoothie’s direction. Something in his face must have looked inviting, because it made Smoothie lean in to brush his hair back. The motion was slow and calculated enough to feel cruel, and that was everything Nick wanted. He closed his eyes again and let the sensation of alcohol blazing through his bloodstream sweep him away. 

He could feel Smoothie’s hand in his hair, and then he felt the killer shift closer to him. Nick wondered how someone so violent could have such a soft touch. Then again, even Nick himself was capable of softness from time to time. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. 

Smoothie would’ve happily sat and admired the sight of his rival sprawled across his bed for hours, but there was no sense in it. After all, he theoretically had all night to sit in the dark and watch Nick lay there, if he wanted to. He let his lips brush against Nick’s chin and savored the sandpaper scratch of the hitman’s beard. 

Nick let out a rumble of pleasure before pushing himself up from the bed. He grabbed Smoothie roughly by the ankles and tugged, pulling him down from the pillows and flat onto his back, right where Nick wanted him. He loved the competitive spark that lit up in Smoothie’s eyes when he pressed the killer down against the quilted comforter. 

“I guess we’re doing this,” Nick said, letting his hands rove up and down Smoothie’s thighs before pushing himself between them to pin the other man down with his body. “Did just eat a lot of shitty, greasy food, though. Don’t expect peak performance.”

“Not something I’ve ever expected from you, since it would be entirely unrealistic,” said Smoothie, so calmly and casually that it almost didn’t sound rude. Nick gave both of his thighs a sharp squeeze in retaliation, and before long the hitman’s hands were moving hungrily over the rest of Smoothie’s body, as if he didn’t quite believe it was real.

“I guess we’re  _ actually _ doing this,” he said again, softer this time, mostly to himself. Smoothie could see the gears working in Nick’s mind as he tried to justify what he was about to do, and the sight of the poor man so distraught brought a smile to his face. 

“Having second thoughts?” he asked. 

“Just never imagined it like this,” Nick said, picking at Smoothie’s buttons contemplatively. The killer’s body arched up from the mattress into his touch. 

“Tell me how you imagined it, then,” Smoothie said, his voice strangely detached. Nick felt those slender thighs pull him in at the hips, and that was more than enough to make instinct take over. A groan escaped through his teeth when he pressed himself against Smoothie’s body. The killer felt so good underneath him, coiling around him like a second skin, responding to each touch more eagerly than the last. Nick couldn’t get enough of the way Smoothie’s hands knotted into the front of his shirt and then tightened controllingly. 

“Mff. Imagined it a lot of different ways. I’m a creative kind of guy,” Nick said, letting out a throaty sound when Smoothie’s lips found his chin and traced a path to the edge of his jaw. 

“Be specific,” Smoothie ordered into his ear. Nick didn’t know how such a gentle voice coming out of such a small, delicate man could sound so authoritative, so tempting. It sent whatever blood he had left in his brain rushing immediately to his dick. He wanted so badly to hear that soft voice praising him, admiring him, even telling him what to do—just so he could ignore it and then take Smoothie however he wanted. 

“Eh, most of my fantasies you’re in handcuffs, at the very least,” he offered. The fact that it made Smoothie laugh only encouraged him further, so he went ahead and let his teeth scrape against Smoothie’s ear when he continued. “And you’re always fighting back, hell of a lot more than you’re doing now. Really squirming, at least at first. But you’re pretty into it by the end.” 

“Am I?” Smoothie asked, clearly amused and enjoying every touch. Nick’s hands caught him by the waist and pulled him close, and then he was grinding against the other man with a sound so low and hungry that it would have frightened anyone locked up in Smoothie’s kill room in the basement. Smoothie could see a sadistic spark lighting up in Nick’s eyes. That excited him more than anything Nick was doing to his body.

“You always end up into it. You’re begging for more even when I’m long done with you,” Nick said in his ear. “Begging me to do all kinds of nasty shit to you.”

“I’ve never begged for anything in my life.”

“Well, I’m gonna change that.” 

Nick found the first of Smoothie’s buttons and locked eyes with the killer when he ripped it deliberately. Smoothie probably would’ve reprimanded him, but Nick quieted his tongue with one dominating kiss. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle against Smoothie’s lips when he ripped the next button more fiercely, and then the next, and when Smoothie’s hands moved to stop him, Nick pinned his wrists down. 

“You were Blue’s favorite little thing,” he said admirably, relishing the fact that he had complete control. When he finally felt the killer squirm underneath him just the way he wanted, it felt all too similar to heaven. Maybe even better, which should have alarmed him. Nick smirked and continued, “I saw him threaten a whole room full of hardass-looking mobsters once, with you. Said he’d sic you on them one by one. They practically shit their pants at the thought. Look at you now, though. What do you think Blue would’ve thought of you, if he’d lived to see you slobbering all over my dick?”

The thought of it brought a hollow smile to Smoothie’s face. He sank into the sensation of Nick’s body holding him tightly in place; it felt wonderful to strain against his grip, to feel how solid and immovable Nick was. “He would’ve had a few opinions.”

“I can imagine his face,” Nick growled into the killer’s ear. “All wide-eyed and slack-jawed, watching his little golden boy get reamed senseless by Nick Sax. Some game of cops and robbers, right?”

Nick released the other man and sat up to peel his shirt off over his head. He balled it up and threw it to the side, letting his eyes take in the sight of the man underneath him for a few moments before roughly tugging Smoothie’s shirt off of him as well. It didn’t take him long to get rid of the rest of Smoothie’s clothes, and he threw them in a pile on the floor before unbuckling his own belt, his fingers fumbling with the zipper afterward in his haste to free his cock. The sight of Smoothie under him, looking up at him as though he were  _ daring _ Nick to fuck him, was irresistible. 

“It would’ve made him sick,” Nick remarked. Smoothie was staring at him with hungry fascination, watching while Nick worked himself to his full length with practiced strokes. “Blue would never have been able to look at you with a straight face again, not if he knew what you were really into. The murder, the sadism, I get it, but come on—wanting me? That’s a whole other level of fucked up, isn’t it?”

Smoothie only smiled. It was a smug smile, one of deep satisfaction, like that of a cat who’d just eaten up an entire nest of mice. The smile stayed annoyingly in place even when Nick tore his own belt away and brought his pants down to his knees. A few muttered curses escaped Nick’s lips as he shook himself free, throwing the garment aside before pushing himself eagerly between the killer’s legs again. Smoothie’s breath spilled out in a rush when Nick’s body pressed him down into the mattress, skin to skin. 

“Wanting to fuck  _ me _ is like wanting to fuck a train wreck while it’s happening,” Nick said. He let his lips move over the other man’s neck. It was all easier than he thought it would be, weirdly enough—he liked the softness, and the way that he could feel the little man’s heartbeat quickening against him. More importantly, he couldn’t get enough of the sensation of Smoothie’s body crushed against his erection. The killer’s hands were already creeping down his body towards his cock. 

“It was never about  _ fucking _ you,” Smoothie reminded him, bypassing his dick to give his balls a controlling little tug. “Fucking you didn’t break you like I thought it would. Maybe that’s because some part of you enjoyed it, hmm? The way you’re enjoying it now?”

Nick wasn’t ready to admit out loud how much he was enjoying himself, but the look of undisguised need on his face when Smoothie’s fingers found his cock made it clear enough. 

“Or, oh, even better—the way you’re  _ about _ to,” Smoothie corrected himself, letting his lips graze Nick’s open mouth while he hypnotized the hitman with long, firm strokes along his shaft. “How does that make you feel, Nick? Knowing that you’re going to love every second of it?”

“Sick,” the other man said under his breath.

“Pardon? Say it once more for me?”

“It makes me feel like a sicko, a freak, sure, whatever the fuck you want to hear,” Nick snapped at him, letting his hips surge into Smoothie’s touch and then grinding him down into the mattress. His cock was aching for more now, fired up by Smoothie’s skillful hands. “I stopped giving a shit ages ago. I didn’t crawl out of a crematorium to feel guilty about where my dick’s going. Now do you want to keep up the bullshit dirty talk, or do you want to let me find out whether or not you can cum?”

Smoothie found it hilarious and a little bit charming that Nick had even brought it up.

“ _ Let _ you,” he sighed affectionately into the hitman’s mouth. “I love that choice of words. If you want to find out, you’ll have to put your back into it.” 

“I fucking plan to,” Nick growled against him.

“Your usual minuteman routine won’t do,” said Smoothie keenly. “I’ll need your attention much longer than that. Your complete attention.”

“Look, communication’s very sexy or whatever, but honestly, you’re gonna have to start printing out a bulleted list ahead of time if you expect me to remember half the shit that you—”

“—Do it hard enough to make me think twice about all of this,” said Smoothie, cutting Nick off only to recapture his interest immediately. Now Nick looked more than invested in the pillow talk.

“Figured you were the type to like it rough,” he said, sounding pleased at his own detective skills, but even more pleased by the friction of Smoothie’s hand around his cock moving with greater intensity. 

“Pain helps the body relax,” Smoothie said into his ear as if he were passing on a trade secret. 

“Does it, now?”

“Mm. Floods the brain with chemical activity, lights up the neurons, works the muscles. It’s stimulating,” the killer said dreamily. “I find you particularly stimulating.” 

“You’re about to.” 

Nick flipped him over forcefully. It took about as much effort as spilling a glass of milk. He pushed Smoothie down by the back of the neck until he heard a satisfied noise of pain come out of him, then leaned down to ask, “Got any lube in here? Or do you keep that in the piss room, wherever that is?”

“I don’t have a whole  _ room _ for—” Smoothie started, before Nick forced his face down into the pillows to muffle him. 

“It’s a joke. Better learn to take it.”

He forced his knee into the small of the other man’s back to keep him down, and reached for the nightstand. There was lube in the drawer, just as he’d suspected, alongside a pair of handcuffs and a series of ugly, sharp metal objects that Nick didn’t want to think about. 

“No strap on?” he asked amicably. 

Smoothie made a vague gesture toward the dresser on the other side of the room, and Nick heard a muffled explanation escape him. 

“Right, without me around, what’s the point in keeping it easy access?” Nick agreed. He let go of Smoothie’s neck to fumble with the confusing cap of the lube. It was something fancier than Nick was used to. “Now, see, I wouldn’t even bother with this—god knows you wouldn’t care either way—but there’s nothing worse than a chafed dick, right? Ah, well. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“I know quite a bit about that,” said Smoothie, thinking of all the sandpaper and grating devices he kept stocked in the basement. 

Nick figured out the cap and immediately pushed him back down. “No talking, you’re done talking. Had enough of the witty banter. Consider everything from here on out rhetorical, alright? The question mark at the end of that sentence? Also rhetorical.”

He pushed himself roughly against the other man, more drunk on the sense of control than he was on the top-shelf gin. 

Smoothie’s fingers tightened against the carefully folded sheets when he felt the heat of Nick’s cock between his legs. The hitman’s body was overwhelming. He felt like a furnace, like he’d only crawled out of the cremation incinerator moments ago, and the smell of acrid smoke and sweat seeped from his skin so powerfully that it even drowned out the smell of fabric softener Smoothie was breathing in from the sheets. There was no sense in resisting any of it. All he wanted to do was melt into the bed and submit to it entirely, to feel the full, brute force of Nick’s deadly body. The back of his neck was already on fire, the hitman’s grip bruising indiscriminately. That only excited Smoothie more. 

A chill ran through him when he felt Nick move away just long enough to slather lube over his cock. He didn’t bother applying any to Smoothie’s asshole; it wasn’t for his benefit, after all. 

“Now, look, you weren’t very gentle with me the first time, and I didn’t appreciate that,” Nick said conversationally as he tugged Smoothie’s hips into position to get a better angle. He pushed the head of his dick between the other man’s cheeks and found his hole, taking a moment to lean in and growl into Smoothie’s ear, “I don’t plan on being very fucking gentle with you, either.” 

He felt a shiver of excitement chase down Smoothie’s body, which was infuriating. It was enough to rile up the need for revenge all over again. 

Nick forced himself into the other man with no regard for how much it would hurt him, only to be met with the muffled noise of Smoothie’s delighted laughter. He yanked the killer back onto his dick hard enough to cut the laugh off and replace it with a gasp of pain. 

He didn’t want to groan once he was sheathed inside the other man, but he couldn’t help himself. It had been ages since he’d fucked something other than his own hand, and that didn’t even take into account how many times he’d beaten himself off imagining this  _ exact _ scenario. Nick hated how addictive the sensation of sinking himself down to the hilt was. Smoothie was wonderfully and almost painfully tight inside, like a steel trap, and he was anything but resistant; the killer was already pushing back into Nick’s hips, welcoming everything. 

“Fuckin’ destroyer of worlds,” Nick snarled, pulling out and then tugging the other man back onto his cock again hard enough to make a terrible, uncontrolled noise come out of him. “I’ll teach you a little something about getting destroyed.”

He let himself go. He didn’t bother holding back while he slammed into the pliable body beneath him, especially not when the soft, enraging sound of Smoothie’s laughter met his ears again. It didn’t stop, not even when Nick pushed the killer’s skull down into the mattress and attempted to silence him with a series of punishing thrusts. 

It all felt too good, and Nick knew how deeply wrong that was. He’d expected the catharsis of a long-standing revenge fantasy fulfilled, which certainly didn’t disappoint, but he hadn’t expected to catch himself biting back this many noises of pleasure—he didn’t want to give Smoothie the satisfaction of hearing them. Still, Smoothie didn’t have to hear anything to figure out how much Nick was enjoying himself. That was evident enough in the way that Nick’s hips faltered between each round of thrusts, and in the way his nails dug in. 

That smug, self-satisfied laughter wouldn’t stop, which only spurred Nick on. Nothing he did stifled it. It didn’t matter how mercilessly he forced his length into Smoothie’s body; if anything, the cruelty only turned the killer on even more. 

“Nothing fuckin’ gets to you, does it?” Nick growled under his breath, releasing the back of Smoothie’s neck only to catch him around the throat tight enough to cut off his air supply. Even that didn’t make it stop. He could still feel Smoothie’s body shaking with a silent, malicious laugh, even as he pulled the killer in to crush him against his chest. “Nothing gets to you at all. Goddamn sociopath.  _ Hhhh _ ,  _ fuck _ .”

Smoothie’s vision was already blinking in and out a bit, but he leaned into it. Nick’s hand felt like a band of iron around his neck, squeezing him underneath the jaw hard enough to make him dizzy. The pain of it was nothing compared to everything else Nick was doing to him. The hitman pounded him into the mattress for all he was worth, bringing him to the absolute brink of pain and pleasure. Smoothie had never been good at distinguishing the two. They had only ever heightened one another. 

Nick relaxed his grip around Smoothie’s throat before the killer blacked out, which Smoothie appreciated—he took in a grateful gasp of air and then Nick drove it out of him with another sharp, painful jerk of his hips. 

He could hear Nick’s breath speeding up, each thrust becoming more greedy and harsh than the last. It wouldn’t be long now, which was probably for the best. Smoothie could feel the bruises setting in, and Nick’s dick hammering away inside of him was becoming delightfully unbearable. 

It was everything Nick could do to keep himself together while he approached the edge. He tried not to think about how easy it was to chase the orgasm, to drive himself into Smoothie’s tight little body even harder and then bite down into the fresh bruises at the back of his neck. 

The groan that Nick let out when he came sounded completely unhinged—his hips faltered and he buried himself deep inside the killer when it overcame him. It was electric, a series of shocks jolting through his dick and then right into the core of him. It didn’t feel like it would end, and it only did once he’d pumped Smoothie full of more cum than he thought he was even capable of producing. 

One of his elbows gave out underneath him immediately after he’d finished, and he let himself collapse on top of Smoothie just to hear the other man wheeze with pain. 

Nick rolled off of him and turned his attention abruptly to the ceiling. The sheets were still mostly intact, still fresh and pristine, but Nick had never felt more disgusting laying in a bed than he did now. He was still trying to process the fact that he’d just fucked a man who skinned other people for fun and profit. On top of that, he had  _ enjoyed _ it. He felt more satisfied than he had in years, and that made him sick to his stomach.

Smoothie took a few seconds to collect his wits and then pushed himself up mechanically, rolling his head back into the resulting pain. The smile on his face would have put the devil to shame. 

“Was that your worst?” he said, his tone mocking and conversational, as he cracked his neck. 

Nick didn’t respond. He let out a gruff sigh and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he wouldn’t  _ totally _ mind if Smoothie were to snuggle up next to him and make the whole situation feel a little less awful. A little more normal. Then again, that was a lot to expect from a man who skinned other people for fun and profit. 

“Nothing to say? Speechless? How flattering,” Smoothie taunted. He shook off the pain and twisted onto his back with a satisfied sound. 

“Can’t, can you?”

“Hm?”

“Cum,” Nick muttered. “Can’t cum. Not through the usual means, at least. Or you would have.”

“Loving the misplaced confidence.”

“No, I think you would have. Not because I’m some kind of sex god or whatever, obviously, you just would’ve gotten off on the  _ scenario _ . Getting me to crawl into bed with you, after everything. Fuck you, after everything.”

“Mmm. Master detective,” Smoothie said, closing his eyes. Nick glanced over at him with a furrowed brow—he had a vague, drunken memory of Amanda calling him that once, in the early light of the morning, and it felt wrong hearing it again now. It was enough to make his blood boil uncomfortably. 

“Seems obvious that it’s not that easy, in retrospect. Not much there to cum with, I guess,” he said. “Feel something, but you can’t quite get there. Nowhere to go.”

“Nowhere to go,” Smoothie said. He didn’t sound bothered by it, which Nick found perplexing. He didn’t even look bothered, which was uncanny, given how roughly Nick had just treated him. 

Nick felt cold, and he hated it, and it made him wish that he was back in the incinerator. 

“Listen, I get that you’re...evil, objectively evil, would you say?” he offered.

“Mmm.”

“Right, yeah,” Nick went on, pushing past the discomfort. “But I mean, don’t let that stop you from, well. You know. The whole, uh, whatever they call it, the post-coital shindig, whatever.”

“Are you asking me to  _ cuddle _ ?” Smoothie asked, his voice hovering somewhere between amusement and total disdain. 

“Nope. Absolutely not,” Nick lied. 

“Ohhh, you  _ are _ .”

“Look, you don’t need to make a big deal out of the—you know what? Forget it, I shouldn’t have bothered. Get further trying to make you cum than trying to get you to lighten up for five minutes, Jesus Christ.” 

Nick rolled over emphatically and made a little show of getting under the covers. He picked the bottle of gin off the floor and grumbled a bit while he cradled it against his chest, trying not to think about the fact that he’d rather be holding a warm body. 

Smoothie clicked off the light on his bedside table and cast everything into darkness. He joined Nick under the covers with all the careful calculation of a fox slipping into a henhouse, letting his fingers find the other man’s spine and studying the way that the touch made Nick shift uncomfortably. 

“Nick.”

“Ah, fuck off.”

Smoothie pressed up against the hitman’s broad back, one of his arms winding underneath Nick’s own to pull him in snugly by the chest. Nick felt the killer’s teeth move dangerously over his ear when Smoothie murmured, “Say it again.”

Nick stared into the dark, folded himself into the other man’s touch, and then admitted it hollowly.

“You won, Smoothie.” 

This time he really meant it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been my main quarantine time-waster so buckle up kids, you’re in for a bumpy ride


	3. Chapter 3

Nick woke up abruptly, and at first he found himself relieved; maybe it had all been some sort of terrible, messed up sex dream. He let himself believe that right up until he realized that Smoothie had shaken him awake. 

“Rise and shine.”

Those cruel hands were caressing Nick’s jaw. As the rest of his body woke up, he found that Smoothie was already fully dressed, right down to the tie, and straddling him. 

“Ohh, there we go, look at that face. The sweet realization,” Smoothie sighed, sounding absolutely charmed by it all. “How does the morning after feel, tiger?” 

Nick groaned miserably and tried to shield his eyes, not just from the harsh overhead light, but from the sight of Smoothie’s vicious grin. 

He remembered every second of it. It was imprinted in his mind like some ungodly nightmare. He could remember being inside Smoothie, choking him into silence, emptying himself into the other man—and right now, with Smoothie’s thighs wrapped around him, all Nick could think about was how much he’d loved it. He couldn’t wait to do it all over again. 

He still felt the familiar ache of self-loathing every time he thought about it, but easing that deep-seated hatred was simple enough. All he had to do was lose himself in something, anything at all, and Nick had a lifetime of practice doing that. There wasn’t any alcohol in arm’s reach, so he lost himself in Smoothie’s touch instead. 

He grumbled, sloughing off the morning light, and pulled Smoothie in by the front of the shirt to kiss him lazily. The killer’s hands were already roving across his chest, each and every touch even more appreciative than the ones from the day before. 

“Morning after feels surprisingly tolerable,” Nick said halfheartedly between kisses. “Still a little surprised I woke up at all, if I’m being honest.”

Smoothie’s motions were hungrier than usual, less carefully plotted. He went in for every kiss with his teeth more than anything else.

The intensity of it made Nick nervous, but it felt too good to resist—his mind was still clouded with the memory of how hard he’d cum last night, and that was enough to make him succumb to anything Smoothie wanted. 

“Mmm. Compliant today, are we?” the killer asked when he broke away, casting his eyes over Nick’s rugged, willing body as if he were loath to pass it up. 

“It’s still early. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Nick said. “Or your lab rats, or whatever.” 

“No, no, you’re much more at ease, aren’t you? Oh, that’s _adorable_. So easily tamed,” Smoothie sighed approvingly. “I like that in a man, you know. Such a nice quality, isn’t it? Obedience?” 

Nick hated every word that came out of the other man’s mouth, hated each one enough to wish that Smoothie would kiss him again and fall quiet. 

“Maybe if you’re feeling particularly compliant, we can find time later today to put that obedience to the test. You might even enjoy it, Nick. I know I will. But first things first—Orcus.”

“Don’t even know where he is,” Nick said, pulling the killer closer with one insistent tug. “It can probably wait an hour.”

“No.”

“C’mon, you don’t look like you’d mind waiting an hour. Lighten up a little. You can give me a good morning blowjob, and I can—well. Do whatever the equivalent is, I guess? What’s the…?”

“There isn’t an equivalent,” Smoothie said, his voice edging towards impatience. “And as much as I’d like to see you try to find one, now isn’t the time. There’s work to be done.”

In an instant Smoothie had untangled himself from Nick’s body and was on his way to the door, snapping his fingers. “Hop to it, Nick!”

Nick grumbled unhappily and then sat up, bleary-eyed. Smoothie was always so quick to leave, and that unnerved him. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it. Normally Nick was the one hastily gathering his things in the morning and sneaking out with the light of the sunrise, leaving yet another disappointed lover lying alone in a heap behind him. He didn’t like being the one left behind. The taste of his own medicine was hard to swallow. 

His clothes were still on the floor where he’d left them, and he pulled them on without rushing. He was still buttoning his shirt when he lumbered down the stairs. He was half expecting a tranquilizer dart or a needle in his neck when he turned the corner into the kitchen—no dart was waiting for him, though, just an omelette and half of a grapefruit sitting on a chic breakfast bar that Nick would’ve looked ridiculous at. Smoothie was nowhere to be found. 

There was probably some kind of tranquilizer in the omelette, Nick decided. Maybe the grapefruit. He had already wolfed both of them down by the time he heard a door creaking open down the hall. Smoothie poked his head into the kitchen a few moments later. Nick heard the clang of a bucket in his hand, and then something sloshing, which made him wish he hadn’t just eaten. 

He tried to say “Is that blood?”, then changed his mind and tried to say, “Please for the love of God tell me it’s not piss”, but instead the only thing that came out of his mouth was an uncomfortable noise and the word, “Omelette.”

“Yes,” Smoothie agreed, in a voice that implied he was talking to either a dog or a child. 

“Next time just make me an Irish coffee. How long were you awake? Get dressed, make an omelette? Must’ve been up for at least an hour.”

“It’s important for a man not to deviate from his morning routine when he has pets,” said Smoothie. He smiled, then held up the bucket, which sloshed. 

“Right,” Nick mumbled, looking down at the empty plate in front of him. “Important to feed all the pets.”

“Now you’re getting the idea.” 

Smoothie brushed past the breakfast bar and opened the fridge, depositing the bucket inside. “I found Orcus, by the way. Approximately. He’s still near the city, in Staten Island. Three hour drive, maybe?”

“Can’t have been that easy.”

“I asked around, contacted some of Blue’s old henchmen. People in the business know better than to hide anything from me. All it took was a handful of phone calls, a bit of persuasion.”

“Alright, so what? We find a few guns, go see if we can waste the son of a bitch?”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Might just piss him off,” Nick said with a shrug, trying to weigh the risk of attempting it anyway. 

“You said he wanted you to work for him.”

“Seems to be more of an on-call kind of thing, as-needed basis. He hasn’t rung me up for anything. Probably thinks I’m too busy hunting you down.”

“Why not reach out to him? Set him at ease?”

“He’ll know you’re still alive, it’ll feel fishy.”

“You can explain to him that your well-laid plans for revenge fell by the wayside,” Smoothie suggested with a malicious smirk. “That you simply couldn’t resist me.” 

“I don’t know if he’ll fall for that,” Nick said. 

Smoothie only smiled wider and said, “I think he will, when you tell him what it felt like to _use_ me. Better than tearing me limb from limb, wasn’t it?” 

“I don’t think I need to discuss any aspect of my sex life with the god of death.”

“It gives you credibility, Nick. Get your coat, take a shot, whatever you do. It’s a long drive.”

Nick caught Smoothie by the arm when he tried to leave the room, and even though the killer resisted, Nick pulled him in close. This time he could smell blood on the other man, lingering just beneath the ever-tempting note of chocolate. Nick was used to the smell of blood, and he didn’t even mind the combination; it was easy to breathe it in, to settle his lips against Smoothie’s collar close enough to taste it.

“That’s your brilliant plan, then?” he asked. “I should just show up and tell him that I made you my bitch instead of decapitating you?”

“More the other way around,” Smoothie suggested.

“Is that what you think?”

“Absolutely. You can’t keep your hands off of me,” said Smoothie, glancing down toward Nick’s grip on his arm to demonstrate the point. He flashed the hitman a curt little smile and then patted him on the cheek. “Orcus saw me break you once already. Why wouldn’t he believe that I broke you again?”

“You didn’t _break_ me again,” Nick growled.

“Didn’t I?” the killer wondered in his ear, his voice taking on a deadly edge. “Can’t get it out of your mind, can you? The thought of touching me?”

Nick went quiet, seething. He heard that light, familiar laugh at his ear again, the one he’d hated so much last night. It was just as infuriating in the light of day. It made him want to throw Smoothie down onto the kitchen tiles and tear into him again, but that would only prove the killer’s point. 

“Look at you. So conflicted. So stubborn. But you want so _badly_ to be told what to do, to be controlled by someone who can handle you properly,” said Smoothie. He sounded eager to put his theory to the test, and if the way Nick’s grip tightened against him was any indication, the feeling was mutual. Instead of giving into it, he put a comforting hand on Nick’s chest and then gave him one uncharacteristically gentle kiss on the lips. 

“I’ll handle you properly, Nick,” he promised, in a voice that was anything but gentle. “Very soon.”

Nick could feel himself getting hard again at the thought of it, and he wished that weren’t the case. He hated the idea of sitting in a cramped car for three hours with his body on fire like this, and he could tell that Smoothie only found his discomfort amusing. Maybe that was what the killer wanted—just to watch Nick squirm in the passenger’s seat, hard as a rock. 

“Handle me now,” he heard himself say. It had sounded forceful in his head, but it came out too quietly, too shamefully. Smoothie made no secret of how much he liked hearing those words; he let both of his hands find Nick’s face and caressed him, then smiled against his lips for a moment, but didn’t quite kiss him. 

“Business before pleasure,” Smoothie said. 

“That’s the opposite of how I do business.”

“And that’s why I get better reviews.”

“Smoothie,” Nick said, sharply and greedily enough to really get the killer’s attention. He stood in one quick swoop, backing the little man into the countertop behind him, looming over him like nothing more than a hungry animal. It was impossible to resist pulling at Smoothie’s hips, leaning in to smell the blood on him again. “Give me five minutes and I’ll make it worth your while.”

He could tell that Smoothie wanted him. The way that the killer’s body responded to his touch made it clear enough. But when Nick leaned in to try and catch him in a kiss, Smoothie made a disapproving noise and tapped the watch on his wrist. 

“Every minute we waste is another minute the trip is delayed. You want him dead, don’t you?”

“Can’t really think of anything I want right now, apart from you on my dick.”

Nick watched Smoothie’s eyes drift shut, then felt the breath leave him in a sigh. He leaned in again and Smoothie didn’t stop him this time, not even when Nick’s teeth moved roughly over his collar and up to the skin of his neck. 

“This is why,” Smoothie said, in a voice that sounded faraway enough to give Nick pause. 

“What?”

“Why you need someone like me,” Smoothie went on. He found Nick’s face with his fingers and forced it up to his own, admiring the fact that Nick looked ready to do just about anything for him. The hitman looked like a mess, like an addict desperate for the next hit. “You have no self-control. No respect. No patience. But those are very trainable qualities. Someone didn’t train you correctly, but I will. You’ll thank me for it in the end, Nick.”

“Ever thought it might be the other way around? That you’re the one who needs me?” Nick asked, ignoring the scoff of disbelief Smoothie let out in response. “Always doing someone else’s dirty work. Must feel pretty damn good to have a side project you don’t have to share with anyone. Something to make you feel like the boss. That’s what you like, isn’t it, that power trip?”

He freed his jaw from Smoothie’s grip with one bullish jerk of his head, and then pushed Smoothie back hard enough to make him feel the edge of the granite countertop digging into his spine. Nick’s voice was different when he went on; huskier, more urgent, more secretive. 

“Maybe you can have your little power trip,” he offered into Smoothie’s ear. “Try and teach me a lesson, see how far you can get. You’re itching to do it. I might even let you, just ‘cause I’m feeling frisky today.”

“Is that so?” Smoothie asked quietly. 

“Might let you do a lot more to me, if you don’t get too kinky with it too fast.” Nick was panting with need now, loving the way that his words made Smoothie’s face light up with surprise.

“Do you mean—?”

“What I mean is that I’m not picky about how you touch me,” Nick said. “As long as you do.”

Smoothie’s breath came out in a rush between his teeth. Nick could see the gears turning in the killer’s brain while he weighed the principle of standing his ground against the opportunity to have Nick at his mercy. It didn’t take him too long to run the calculations. His tongue flashed over his lips, then he leaned into Nick’s touch instead of trying to escape it and said, “Maybe an hour wouldn’t hurt. Just this once.”

“That’s right, baby. You deserve it,” Nick deadpanned.

“I do,” Smoothie said, too eagerly. He let his hands move over Nick’s body, shivering at the thought of where to begin. Smoothie wanted to do everything to him, including more than a few things that were definitely illegal. He could barely keep the quiver of excitement out of his voice when he said, “It doesn’t all have to hurt, Nick. If you’re obedient, I can be as gentle as a lamb. How does that sound?”

“Like a bold-faced lie.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“Not even as far as I could throw you.”

The killer couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Positive reinforcement can be just as effective as discipline, you know,” said Smoothie, looking up into Nick’s eyes longingly, with an expression that lacked his usual sadistic intensity. “It would be unfair if I didn’t reward you for good behavior. You’ve been good this morning, at least for the most part, haven’t you? Such a good boy.” 

That _did_ something to Nick. He had no idea why hearing Smoothie say those words turned him on so much, and he definitely didn’t have time to unpack it now. Instead he clutched at Smoothie’s hips and sank down to his knees, watching the way that the gesture made Smoothie’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“I can be good,” Nick managed through the haze of arousal, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “When it suits me.”

He felt Smoothie’s fingers tracing through his hair so, so gently, as if the killer were trying to prove a point. Nick’s lips were already catching on the buckle of the other man’s belt, then his zipper, eager to get underneath them again. He waited until he felt Smoothie undo them both himself, and then let his mouth explore the confusing landscape between Smoothie’s legs. 

It certainly did something to the other man, though Nick wasn’t clear on the exact specifics of what. He heard a sound come out of Smoothie that he particularly liked; it was a little bit pained, but a lot more pleased. 

“Not going to get anywhere with that,” Smoothie sighed, even though his voice indicated otherwise. Nick felt the killer’s knees buckle slightly when his tongue found the line of scar tissue down below and traced it with one long stroke. 

“What’s that phrase—more about the journey than the destination, or whatever,” Nick muttered, making sure Smoothie could feel the words against his skin. “Besides, I like a challenge.”

“Not a challenge,” Smoothie managed. “Fact.”

“Something gets you off, though. You act like you’re immune to it,” Nick said. His fingers tightened against the killer’s thighs. “But I know you weren’t when we met. Killed four men in front of you and that turned on those come-over-here-and-fuck-me eyes real quick. So what is it? The blood and guts? Is that all?”

“This is starting to feel like an interrogation.”

“It’s the equivalent of a blowjob,” Nick corrected helpfully, with only a little bit of sarcasm in his voice. He backed up the statement with his tongue, and even though the motions were sloppy and not especially practiced, that was still enough to make Smoothie choke on whatever snide reply he’d been planning. 

Nick’s haste and hunger made up for any lack of skill. He loved the taste of Smoothie’s skin, and how sensitive it seemed to be, despite all the scar tissue. When his tongue moved in one broad swathe over the area that would have housed Smoothie’s scrotum if he’d had one, he heard the killer bite back a desperate whine. He wanted more than anything to hear that whine, and he repeated the motion until he’d forced it out, enjoying the grateful, uncontrollable sound that spilled from Smoothie’s lips. 

The plastic catheter was intimidating to Nick, but it felt rude to ignore it, somehow, so he let his lips explore the spot where it emerged from the thicket of scar tissue. He could taste rubbing alcohol against the plastic—sanitized wipes or something, he assumed. When his teeth touched it, he could see the sensation chase through Smoothie’s body. 

“Feel that inside, don’t you?” Nick observed, unsure if he should be fascinated or freaked out by the concept. He wanted to land somewhere between the two, but it turned out that the only thing between the two was “horny”. Instead he shrugged it off and let one of his thumbs tease the edge of the plastic. He glanced up to see what the sensation did to Smoothie’s face.

Smoothie had bitten into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and if he noticed, then he didn’t care. Nick could see it on his teeth and at the corner of his mouth. When he flicked his thumb over the end of the catheter, he watched Smoothie catch himself on the countertop to keep from crumbling to the floor right in front of him. 

“Makes sense,” he noted as he kept up the treatment. “Why wouldn’t you like something you can feel from the inside? Not much going for you on the outside. I personally was never sold on the idea of anything inside me, but that ended up making it onto my ‘shouldn’t have knocked it before I tried it’ list. No thanks to you.”

Smoothie managed to say, “Mmm?” between his teeth, and nothing else—Nick couldn’t read anything on his face except for terrifyingly unbroken focus and arousal. 

“I guess you could argue that you were the one who got it on my mind, but you were real nasty about it.” Nick didn’t want to fuck too much with the catheter, so he pushed Smoothie into the countertop and dug his nails into the killer’s hips to accentuate his words with a few bruises. “Hooker I hired two weeks later was a lot nicer about it. They usually are, I guess, gotta get a good review. Meredith might have walked in on something a lot different if you hadn’t been so rough with me. Turns out it ain’t half bad, taking it from behind.”

He heard Smoothie whine again, and he hadn’t done anything different with his body, so it had to have been in response to his words. 

“Might let you have another shot, if you don’t get weird about it,” Nick said suggestively, standing abruptly and pinning the killer against the counter with his arms. “What do you think, Smoothie, think that’ll get you off? You never really got to enjoy it, did you?”

“Didn’t even get a copy of the tape,” Smoothie admitted. There was still blood on his bottom lip, and Nick closed his mouth over it hungrily before Smoothie could wipe it away. That fired the killer up more than anything, and within moments Smoothie’s hands were on him, sinking into Nick’s shirt as if he meant to go all the way through to the heart underneath. 

Nick broke away from him and licked his lips, then growled, “Take your little power trip. I’ll let you. I’d even let you do it right now.”

“Not while you’re being so very, _very_ good,” Smoothie said under his breath. He let out a satisfied sigh and laid both of his hands against Nick’s cheeks, pulling him into one long and grateful kiss before pushing him away. Nick looked ready to argue, but Smoothie only hopped up to perch himself on the edge of the countertop before tugging the hitman back again. He didn’t have to look up, now—Nick was eye to eye with his mismatched stare, and all too happy to lean in while Smoothie’s legs tightened around his waist. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Smoothie, quick and to the point, one of his hands finding the back of Nick’s neck and the other grabbing the hitman between the legs hard enough to make Nick mutter a curse. “You can tell me all of the things you’ve never asked anyone to do to you in bed before. The ones you would’ve been too afraid to tell your ex-wife about. Then, after we’ve finished our business in the city, I’ll do it all to you. The whole list. One by one.”

“Not gonna have any time to kill Orcus, then. It’s a long list,” Nick panted. He let his body slump forward into the other man’s touch when he felt Smoothie’s hand sliding past his waistband to take hold of his cock. “Ahhh, fuck. Jesus. Okay.”

“Be as specific as possible,” said Smoothie with an encouraging little smirk. 

Nick’s mind was swimming with relief now that Smoothie was paying attention to his aching erection. He settled in against the killer with a huff and felt Smoothie’s nails rake luxuriously across the back of his neck. He was starting to become numb to the shame of it all, now; it was still there in the back of his mind, but there was no sense in dwelling on it. It was easy enough to turn off the logical part of his brain and let Smoothie stroke him into oblivion. 

“I’ve never asked anyone to do the kind of shit you’ve done to me,” he said, thinking back on all those times the other man had touched him without a lick of sympathy. “Not really my thing, all the ball gags and torture devices.”

“Mm.”

“Always wished someone would talk to me the way you do, though. That part can’t be beat,” Nick said, biting back a grunt of pleasure while Smoothie’s fingers squeezed his shaft. “Turns me on when you talk all that destiny bullshit; hammer meet nail, unstoppable force meets an immovable object. When you talk about all the so-called _discipline_ you think I need.” 

That made Smoothie smile, just a bit maliciously. “Go on.”

“Asphyxiation, there’s a good one. Never asked anyone to help me out with that. Not sure you’re the ideal person to ask, either. Wouldn't want you getting too carried away with it.”

“No chance of that,” Smoothie reassured him in a voice that was much too casual. “I would never let you go so painlessly.”

It was hard to argue when the killer put it that bluntly, and even harder when Smoothie’s other hand slipped down to undo the front of Nick’s jeans for better access. Nick let out a low, grateful sound when Smoothie started stroking him with both hands. 

“Keep up, Nick. You’re doing so well,” said Smoothie in his ear, every word dripping with pride. “Tell me something else. Something you’re ashamed of, something that keeps you awake at night.”

It was getting more and more difficult for Nick to focus. Smoothie was touching him just the way he liked and looking at him as if he were something more than just a consolation prize, and that was too much to stand; no one looked at him like that anymore. He didn’t even mind how dark and predatory the other man’s smile was. If anything, that only made him feel more at home. 

“Something that keeps me awake at night?” he grumbled uncertainly. Smoothie only smiled wider, pulled him in with a squeeze of his thighs, and then let one of his hands creep down to give Nick’s balls an insistent tug. 

“The more depraved, the better,” he said, nuzzling his lips teasingly against Nick’s own. It was all too much for Nick to stand. He reached out to catch himself against Smoothie’s body when he felt the delicious ache of a much-needed orgasm starting to thrum to life inside him. His fingers tightened into Smoothie’s pressed white shirt in one quick, greedy motion.

Countless depraved scenarios flashed through Nick’s mind, including a few revenge fantasies that involved Smoothie’s lifeless corpse instead of his attentive hands, but one stood out above the rest. It was more fucked up than anything else Nick could imagine. 

He let out a needy growl, then tucked his face into Smoothie’s shoulder so he didn’t have to see the cruel glitter in the killer’s eyes when he said it.

“I wanna hear you tell me that you feel something,” he admitted, his mouth almost rejecting the words. “Even though you probably can’t feel shit.”

“Feel something?” Smoothie said, confused. 

“Wanna hear you tell me that you care. That you—love me, even.” Those words sounded so, _so_ wrong when he said them, and it was all Nick could do to spit them out. “Even though you don’t. I know I’m just your little fuckin’ hobby horse, I know it’s nothing to you. I just want to hear you pretend. Just long enough to let me feel like it’s real. Just long enough to fuck like we don’t hate each other, even just once.”

Smoothie’s hands were slowing down distractedly, and Nick had to rock his hips into the killer’s touch to get him to speed up again. When Smoothie didn’t say anything, Nick wondered if he’d crossed a line. 

“Doesn’t have to be real,” he said, desperately. “I know it’s just some fucked up role play. But it’s been over a decade since anyone even faked it.”

“Really,” said Smoothie. His voice was detached and aloof, short and to the point. Maybe Nick actually _had_ crossed a line. 

“Doesn’t matter what you do to me afterwards, I’m not picky. Just do it like you feel something,” Nick insisted. “Just once, Smoothie. Please.”

“Say it again.”

“Which pa—please?” The killer gave Nick a squeeze down below, this one a little bit harsher than he’d been expecting, and that was enough to make the words spill out. “God, fuck. _Please._ ”

He heard a soft noise of approval escape Smoothie’s lips. He loved the sound of that, and he loved the way that Smoothie’s hands stroked him with renewed vigor, bringing him to the edge with expert precision. 

“Looks like you’re just about at the end of your list, aren’t you,” Smoothie sighed into the other man’s ear. “At least for today.”

Nick was well beyond the ability to respond. All he could do was clutch hungrily at Smoothie’s waist and muffle a heated noise against the collar of his shirt. 

“Tick-tock, tiger.” Smoothie’s voice cut into him like a knife and then twisted into something dark and dangerous. “Bark like a dog if you want it.”

Nick made a noise that landed somewhere between desperation and disgust. Smoothie’s body tightened around him like a steel vice. 

“I told you to _bark,_ ” he commanded, controlling the other man by the cock and balls, working him past the point of argument. “When I say bark, you say—?”

“—Woof,” Nick said through his teeth. He hated it with every cell in his body, hated it like nothing he’d ever felt before, and that heightened every sensation. The humiliation sank in when Smoothie smiled wickedly against his ear. 

“Look at you. Domesticated, just like you ought to be,” he said appreciatively. “Now roll over, Nick.”

When Smoothie’s teeth snapped shut underneath his ear and sank in, it was over; Nick blanked out, blinded by the burst of pleasure that overcame him. 

It was like some sort of out-of-body experience, or at least that was the closest thing Nick could compare it to. He heard himself groan Smoothie’s name, but he had no control over it. His hips didn’t feel like they belonged to him anymore. They bucked mindlessly into the other man’s touch when Nick came all over himself, his hot load spilling over Smoothie’s hands until there was nothing left inside of him. He kept chasing it even as the shocks faded, grinding himself into Smoothie’s slick and willing palms until he was too sensitive to stand another second of it. 

He was lightheaded now, and nauseous, but he’d never felt more satisfied than he did when Smoothie pulled him in posessively and licked the sweat from his neck. 

“Good boy,” the killer said against Nick’s heated skin. Every kiss he pressed against Nick’s bristly jaw felt like a gold star of approval. Nick slumped into him and accepted it all. He let out one last mindless groan when Smoothie’s tongue lapped over the nasty bite marks he’d left underneath Nick’s ear. 

“Not very professional,” Nick grumbled, pushing through the post-orgasmic fog. “Giving me a hickey like that right before we gotta get to work.”

“It looks good on you. You bruise so nicely.”

“Gotta work on your compliments.”

Smoothie pushed him away unceremoniously and slid from the counter. He found a nearby dishrag to wipe his hands off on, and threw it at Nick when he was done. 

“Clean yourself up,” he said, readjusting his zipper. “We should get on the road.”

“Thought you said it could wait an hour.”

“Well, it only takes about forty-five seconds to satisfy you, doesn’t it? No point in wasting any more time than that.”

He brushed past Nick on his way out of the kitchen, and the hitman followed him with suspicious eyes. 

“Where are you off to?”

Smoothie paused at the foot of the stairs and gestured vaguely to the front of his pants. “To change. Not going to meet Orcus with _you_ all over me.” He vanished up the stairwell. 

“That’s what you think,” Nick muttered. 

Even the dishrag in Smoothie’s house was nicer than any that Nick had ever owned. He almost felt bad about using it to wipe his dick off. He wiped off the countertop afterward, surprised and more than a little bit concerned about the sheer amount of cum that had come out of him from nothing more than a handjob. He didn’t want to think about anything he’d just said or done. He definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d thrown out the word _love_ , no matter the context; it still definitely violated the Sax family code of “Death Before Intimacy”. 

Then again, thanks to Smoothie, Nick was already dead. 

He heard floorboards creaking above him when he went to get his coat, which Smoothie had thrown helpfully on a rack near the door. It would be a chilly fall day, so he double-wrapped his scarf around his neck when he heard Smoothie coming down the stairs. 

The killer had put on a smart black coat and khakis, and he reached out to pull Nick in by the scarf once he’d crossed the room. 

“Never going to get a new coat, are you?” he asked, tracing a button that had fallen off and been sewn on again so many times that the thread told an entire history. 

“I’m a creature of habit,” Nick said. “Listen, about that whole thing with the—ah. I mean, look, obviously sometimes we all get caught up in the moment, am I right—”

“Shhh. No need to say anything,” Smoothie said soothingly, pressing in and smiling when Nick didn’t bother to move away. His hands moved keenly and a bit too delicately underneath Nick’s coat. If Nick hadn’t been lost in the eerie, dilated pupil of Smoothie’s red eye, he might have noticed something was amiss. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t notice until he felt something small and sharp sting him right in the left asscheek. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” he snarled. He managed to tighten one hand around Smoothie’s neck, but in a matter of seconds he watched his own arm go limp and then felt himself swaying, his vision clouding over. “No. No, fuck you, not fffffff...not fair.”

“Night night, tiger,” Smoothie said gently into his ear, catching Nick underneath the arms as he fell and slowing his descent to the floor, the same uncanny takedown that he’d practiced to perfection with his other victims. He slid the syringe of anesthetic out of Nick’s body and put it aside to deal with later. There was no rush. Nick would be out for a few hours. 

Smoothie watched Nick’s eyes roll shut and the last twitches fade from his body with a curious, impassive look on his face. He always liked seeing Nick blink out like that. The hitman looked so much more tempting when he was helpless, when his fast reflexes and steely muscles couldn’t save him. Smoothie wanted to play with him for an hour or two, make him wake up aching and desperate, but he managed to resist. It would put a dent in his plan, after all. 

Something was making his eye flicker, and he didn’t know what. He tried to knock it back into place with a little yank of his head, but that didn’t improve it. He was still rubbing at it, trying to soothe it even after he’d dragged Nick’s body to the car and strapped him into the passenger's seat. 

It calmed down a little when he finally started the engine, and he let out a long, measured sigh. 

When he finally looked over at Nick, passed out peacefully in the passenger's seat, he gave himself a few moments to admire the sight. 

“Almost makes me feel…” he started, talking to himself and trailing off while he considered the state of things. “...Hmm. Something.”

He shrugged it off while he slipped on his sunglasses, then turned on his favorite song and set the GPS for Staten Island. 

***

Orcus wasn’t at all surprised to see Smoothie, which the latter thought was worth noting. A trio of dark-suited henchpeople walked him through the double doors of the devil’s home office and dragged Nick behind, dumping him without ceremony on the fine Turkish rug that dominated the hardwood floor. 

There was nothing about the devil’s den that didn’t look decadent. He had furnished the place with fine antiques and dark, stylish industrial accents, placing himself in the middle of it all behind a massive, ebony executive’s desk. Orcus looked like he’d done well for himself since the death of Sonny Shine. His mustache was perfectly waxed, his smile perfectly villainous. He was all too pleased to see his unexpected visitor.

“Smoothie,” Orcus said grandly, as if he were greeting an old friend, or the winner of the most dangerous game. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Touchy subject for you, I’m sure, but all the same.”

There was a leather swivel chair in front of the devil’s desk, and Smoothie seated himself there comfortably enough. “Been a while since our last schizophrenic episode,” he said. 

“Couldn’t tell where you slipped off to, after the whole debacle,” Orcus told him, leaning over the desk with a look of pointed interest. It was eerie how dissimilar he was to Blue, despite wearing the same face. Smoothie had never gotten used to that. The devil went on, “I thought about sending someone to look for you. Then again, I suppose I did. Happy to be reunited with your favorite toy, then?”

“Very,” Smoothie agreed. 

“I thought as much. How’d you manage to get the best of him? He’s quite a handful, that Nick Sax.”

“You have no idea,” said Smoothie, thinking more about Nick’s anatomy than anything else.

Orcus only raised an eyebrow. 

“You sent him to kill me,” Smoothie continued. “I’m willing to forgive it, business is business.”

“Doesn’t look like he killed you, does it?”

“It was close.”

“Must have done something else to you instead, then,” Orcus said, in a voice that made Smoothie think of cold medicine going down the gullet. The smile on his face only spread wider, curling itself into a nasty grin. “Or the other way around.”

“I brought him so that you and I could talk business,” said Smoothie. 

“You’re not the type to stop and smell the roses, I see,” Orcus sighed, shifting back in his chair and lacing his fingers. “Very well. I’m listening.”

“He asked me to help him kill you. Offered a very substantial reward. As you can see, I turned him down. He’s not aware of that just yet.”

“Well, aren’t you my guardian angel.”

“Just a freelancer,” Smoothie said lightly. “One who can spot a bad deal when he sees it, and knows where to find a better one.”

“What did he offer you? I’m happy to match it.”

“My life, all the change he had in his pockets, and to let me win, once and for all,” said Smoothie. “To let me do whatever I liked to him, once it’s all said and done. He said that once you were gone, he’d submit to me willingly. Once you could never threaten his pretty little family again.”

“Is that right?”

“Hard to turn it down, I’ll admit. He kept on trying to sweeten the deal. You must have really gotten to him,” Smoothie sighed, leaning back in the chair. “He even offered me a bit of a…test drive, let’s say, just to prove he was serious. I have to admit, it was enough to make me consider his offer.”

“What changed your mind?”

“He didn’t have anything concrete to offer me, really, just his word. You, on the other hand, have something I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sax said you own him. He’s at your beck and call. Isn’t that the arrangement?”

“Something like that.”

“Then it looks like you’re in possession of my favorite toy,” said Smoothie meaningfully. Orcus picked up on the territorial edge in his voice when he said it, and the devil raised his eyebrows. 

“Come now, Smoothie. That’s all you want? Nick Sax? Men like him are a dime a dozen,” he said, casting a disdainful little glance toward Nick’s motionless body. 

“If only I had a dime,” Smoothie sighed. 

He watched Orcus consider the situation with a keen and critical eye. The devil was aloof and unreadable, even when he smiled. Finally Orcus let out a low chuckle and steepled his fingers together, clearly ready to negotiate.

“Very well, you can have him. He failed the first task I gave him, so what use is he compared to you? Call it a sign-on bonus,” he suggested with a snide little smirk, his mustache twitching. “All you have to do is agree to my terms of employment.” 

“Happy to.”

“Sax won’t appreciate this betrayal, you know.”

Smoothie flashed him a smile. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him having any strong opinions. Those are the first things to go, once I’ve got someone under the knife. If you want a lucid opinion from Sax, you’d be wise to get it within the next forty-eight hours. After that, I doubt he’ll be much of a conversationalist. More of a trophy, at that point.” 

Orcus looked at him like a lion might’ve looked at a particularly confident hyena. He was impressed, but his air of superiority pervaded the way he showed it. The devil toyed with one of the waxed ends of his mustache while he admired Smoothie’s complete lack of moral compass.

“You’re an awful one, aren’t you?” He said, his voice taking on a quality that almost sounded like fondness. “All the carnage you can stomach, that’s what I’m offering. For as long as the wheel of the world continues to turn.”

“I’ll retire at some point.”

“Not so, my friend. Once you shake my hand, those pesky rules of _time_ won’t work quite the same way. You’ll have risen above all that,” said Orcus, with a mystical quality to his voice.

“Mmm. You said the same thing to Sax, but here we are.”

“Doubting my honesty?”

“No, just your confidence. Sax was convinced that you could be killed,” Smoothie said, cocking his head to one side. “Convinced enough to lay everything on the table. He seemed to think that killing you would reverse the bargain he’d made.”

He could feel the devil’s eyes burning into him, trying to pinpoint the subterfuge behind his words. Orcus had existed for ages, and he was a good reader of people’s intentions, but there was nothing in Smoothie’s face except for what appeared to be professional curiosity. 

Orcus stood, rising from behind the desk like an eldritch horror coming out from the deep. He took his time crossing the room, passing Smoothie and making his way toward the crumpled body of Nick Sax on the floor. He looked down at the heap of a man with a satisfied look on his face, and then rolled him over onto his back with the heel of one shoe. 

“Death is always waiting around the corner,” he said, leaning in to look at the hitman’s limp, slack-jawed face and then toeing it to one side. “I know that better than anyone. Death is my life’s work. Do you ever think about your own death?”

Smoothie’s eye flickered in the socket, and he tried to look elsewhere to hide the tell from Orcus. It was no use. He saw a knowing smile spread across the devil’s face. 

“You do,” Orcus said confidently. “And why shouldn’t you? A dealer of death, aren’t you? A man should understand the product he’s selling. How does it feel to contemplate your death?”

When Smoothie tried to come up with an answer to the question all he could think about was how perfectly Nick’s fingers had fit around his throat, snug and satisfying and absolutely ruthless. It had been like finding a puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing. 

“Feels like embracing destiny,” he said, finally. 

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Orcus agreed, grinding his heel against Nick’s jaw for one long moment before releasing him with a haughty kick. He turned back to Smoothie and smiled, clasping his hands together. “Fate fucks us all, in the end. Death is an inescapable reality. But it can be delayed far, far longer than most people ever realize. It can be guarded against in ways that someone like you might never fully understand. I’ve watched the rise and fall of entire kingdoms, you know. Even brought some of them about myself. I may fall, someday, whether it be tomorrow or when the sun scorches this planet to a cinder. But I won’t fall at the hands of any man, immortal or otherwise.” 

He crossed over to settle himself against the edge of his desk in front of Smoothie’s chair, holding out one hand to offer him the Faustian bargain. 

“So, what do you say?”

“Sounds like a good arrangement. Love a job with perks,” Smoothie noted. “One last thing, though, I _am_ on my vacation right now.”

“You’ve had six months of vacation. It’s time to get those gears turning again.”

“Mm. See, you’re not wrong. But I like to tie up all my loose ends before starting a new project,” said Smoothie with a smile. “It’s not often that I take personal days, don’t worry. Let’s say I can start in two weeks.”

“Two weeks to tie up all of your loose ends?”

“Oh, no, that’ll take a week, give or take.”

“And the rest?”

Smoothie looked longingly over at Nick, then said, “Call it a honeymoon.”

Orcus smiled and inclined his head, agreeing to the terms. “Very well. You strike a clean bargain, Smoothie, I like that about you. No nonsense.”

Smoothie clasped the devil’s outstretched hand and gave it one solid shake. “Two weeks, then.”

“Two weeks,” said Orcus, sealing the bargain. 

After everything Nick had described to him, Smoothie half expected something fantastical to happen—fiery sparks, a cosmic wind, maybe a crack of thunder. But nothing changed when he shook the devil’s hand, at least not anything that he could see. Orcus released him and turned on his heel, pacing back behind his desk to plant himself right where he’d started. He made a patient little gesture to shoo Smoothie away. 

“Now run along and play,” he said, raising his eyebrows and casting a glance in Nick’s direction. 

Smoothie had no intention of overstaying his welcome. He stood and straightened his coat, watching Orcus beckon a pair of his henchpeople over to drag Nick’s body back out to the car. 

A third escorted him from the office, and the great double doors to the devil’s den shut with a resounding sound. 

It was easy enough for Smoothie to smile and say a quick “thank you” to the two deadly-looking men that shoved Nick back into the car. He liked not having to do that part himself. 

Once he’d slid into the driver’s seat and clicked shut Nick’s seatbelt, he took a halfhearted glance around the car to see if he had anything else on hand to restrain the hitman with. If Smoothie’s estimations were correct, Nick could wake up any time within the next hour. It wouldn’t be wise to let him regain consciousness until he was at least handcuffed to something. After all, he was sure to be livid when he woke up. Smoothie wasn’t even particularly confident that Nick would hear him out. It was a gamble.

There were no restraints in the car, which was disappointing. Smoothie put the vehicle in drive and looked at the clock, wondering which of his old haunts in the city would make an acceptable hideout. There was one on the outskirts, an old torture chamber maybe thirty minutes away. It would have to do. 

The building itself was an old warehouse, one that had burned down twice and been halfheartedly refurbished by Blue to run smuggling operations out of on the weekends. With any luck, most of Smoothie’s things would still be there. The shady neighborhood and thick, scorched brick walls of that warehouse had made it one of his favorite spots to extract information, back in the old days. If nothing else, there would at least be a cage or two big enough for Nick. 

“Just until you’re nice and calm,” Smoothie said in a comforting voice, casting a glance in Nick’s direction even though the hitman couldn’t hear him. “Just until you’re compliant again. That’s all. I’m not going to take advantage, I promise.”

Even when he said the words, he knew they weren’t true. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shrugged, and then corrected himself. 

“Well…might take advantage just a little bit,” he said under his breath. “But I don’t think you’ll mind, will you?” 

Traffic was light, which worked to Smoothie’s benefit; he reached the warehouse in less than half an hour, pulling in to the cracked asphalt lot and finding somewhere secluded to park his car. 

He tried to drag Nick into the building gently, but the hitman was difficult to transport and the asphalt lot was a maze of potholes. Nick would probably wake up with a few new scrapes.

It was deserted inside. That was good. Orcus had kept ownership of the building, Smoothie assumed, but he wasn’t running any new operation out of it yet. It was all still intact, right down to the big, steel animal cages in the back room and the hospital gurney beds, complete with reinforced restraints. 

Smoothie wanted to strap Nick down to one of those beds more than _anything_. He even stopped and considered it, looking at the cuffs with a terrible, gnawing hunger building up inside him. It would be impossible to escape the bonds. Nick would be absolutely at his mercy, strapped down and forced to accept anything Smoothie wanted. The idea was so tempting that Smoothie almost threw out his entire plan in favor of it. 

“No no, not today,” he muttered disappointedly, trying to convince himself to resist. “Focus.”

He dragged Nick into one of the steel cages and shut the door. He still had the keys to the padlock on his keyring, and he locked it tight before leaning into the bars with a little sigh. It was odd, looking in at someone he didn’t plan on butchering. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there watching, staring at Nick as silently and patiently as a snake in the grass. It might have been a minute, or it might have been twenty. Eventually he saw the first twitches of consciousness picking up across Nick’s body. It was only a twinge in the hitman’s fingertips at first, but before long it had spread to the rest of him, and then Nick’s eyes opened sluggishly. Keeping them focused on anything was a struggle. Smoothie watched as the other man tried to take in his surroundings with increasing confusion. 

“Wakey, wakey,” Smoothie said. Nick’s eyes rolled toward him immediately, and then took on a keen and murderous look. Smoothie found it distractingly adorable. “Don’t try to get up too fast.” 

The hitman managed to unfold one of his hands as he regained control of it, and he held up a weak but emphatic middle finger. 

“Fuck yourself,” he slurred. 

“Thought you might do that for me.” 

“Thought you might— _g_ _o fuck yourself_.” 

“Very bad language. What would your daughter think, if she heard you talking like that?” 

Nick surged towards the bars in a loosely controlled lurch, and even sedated as he was, the motion was so fast that Smoothie barely skipped back out of the way in time to avoid being caught. Nick spat another curse and tried to reach him with one savage swipe through the bars, but his knees gave out and he slid down to the concrete, becoming a puddle of rage.

“I told you not to get up too fast,” Smoothie sighed. He eased closer, staying just out of range and then kneeling down to try and catch Nick’s hateful, woozy gaze. “Look at you, you must have needed that nap. Now you look more refreshed.” 

“Gonna kill you,” Nick snarled, still huffing with the effort of trying to control his recovering body. “Gonna tear you to fucking pieces and feed ‘em to your own goddamn lab rats.” 

“Oh, are you?” 

“Gonna make you regret stabbing me in the back,” Nick panted. “You fucking _weasel_.” 

“I don’t regret anything. But please, go on,” said Smoothie. He leaned in tantalizingly, just within reach, and watched Nick’s anger boil over. “This is my favorite game. Tell me all the naughty things you’d do, if only you weren’t stuck in there.” 

“Screw off, psychopath,” said Nick, smashing one fist against the steel bars hard enough to make Smoothie’s heart flutter excitedly. 

“Not feeling very compliant anymore, I see.” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

Nick’s arm shot out between the bars and missed Smoothie by just a hair’s breadth. He heard the killer giggle delightedly in the background when he started straining against the cage as though he might be able to break it. Nick let out another curse before giving up. He let his sluggish body come to rest against the steel bars. He was so blinded by the anger that he almost couldn’t see Smoothie anymore. 

“You’re disgusting on a completely different level,” he said, astounded by the realization even as he let the words drip from his mouth. “I always thought you were a sicko, but Jesus Christ, Smoothie. This is the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Hmm. Hearing you say that is probably the closest I’ll ever come to feeling an orgasm,” said Smoothie, beaming with pride. “Now, are you done? We have business to discuss.” 

“Not anymore we don’t.” 

“Content to let Orcus keep you hostage?” 

“Better than _you_ keeping me hostage,” Nick snarled. “I’ll deal with him after I’ve finished pulling your skull out through your asshole.”

Smoothie was skeptical about the logistics of that, but Nick looked angry enough and powerful enough to make it happen. “Right. As much as I’d love to see you try, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You need me now more than you did before.”

“I need you like I need ass cancer, Smoothie,” said Nick. “Get bent.”

“You won’t be able to kill him. Orcus.” 

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Says who?” 

“Says Orcus. He and I had a little chat, while you were napping. I thought it would be best if I spoke to him alone.” 

“Oh, sure. That sets me right fuckin’ at ease,” Nick commented, every word punctuated with white hot sarcasm. “Knocking me out, putting me behind bars, sure, why not? Conspiring with the man I’m trying to waste for the sake of my immortal soul, alright. Sounds great. I’ll bet you’re gonna tell me you did it all with the best intentions, am I right?” 

“Oh, no. I did it so that I’d have a failsafe, in case this all goes south,” Smoothie told him. 

“Anything to save your own skin.” 

“Of course.”

“You’re a complete and utter bastard.” 

“Hmm. _But,_ ” Smoothie said, hitting the consonants sharply. “A bastard who knows more than you do, now. And a bastard who threw Orcus off your trail—you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Right, like I’m gonna believe that,” Nick snorted. 

“He’s actually very easy to bargain with. Then again, I suppose when he made a bargain with you, he had you...bent over a barrel, metaphorically speaking. Not much chance of budging. But it’s like I said. He was always fair with me,” said Smoothie. “You would only have hindered the conversation.”

“Scoot about a foot closer and I’ll hinder _this_ conversation.” 

Smoothie let out a long, patient sigh. He liked seeing Nick like this, seething with hatred and chomping at the bit for violence, but he was tired. It had been a long drive, and this old-hat game wasn’t quite as fun as the one from this morning. Laying all his cards on the table wasn’t something that Smoothie ever did lightly, but the situation called for an exception. 

“Let’s see if you can connect the dots, supercop,” he said, waiting until he was certain that he had Nick’s attention, until Nick looked right at him with those murderous eyes. “Orcus wasn’t impressed to see you beaten so easily, but he was tickled to see me. He was more than happy to use you as a bargaining chip. Probably thinks I’m going to turn you into a very unique rug, or some other fine piece of furniture, which admittedly is tempting. But now he’ll be expecting your absence. He doesn’t think you’re a piece on his chessboard anymore, he thinks I’m going to have my way with you and then throw you off the edge of it. I’ve given you the advantage.”

He held Nick’s gaze and watched it shift, watched it soften from blind rage to healthy skepticism. The hitman didn’t say anything. He was trying to catch Smoothie in a lie, the same way that Orcus had tried, but that was almost impossible—after all, Smoothie was impeccable about peppering his lies in among the truth. 

“Now, when Sonny did what he did to me,” Smoothie continued, pointing sharply at his right eye. “I found that the best way to get close enough to kill him was to play along. Appeal to his ego, let him believe that he had won. Orcus believes he’s in charge now, and he’s convinced that I have nothing to gain from double-crossing him. That puts me in an ideal position to double-cross him, if it suits my fancy. Do I need to keep spelling things out for you?”

He could see the deadly tension in Nick’s body fading as the hitman’s face twisted into a quizzical scowl. Nick still didn’t sound convinced when he said, “Doesn’t explain why you double-crossed _me_. You should’ve let me in on your brilliant plan, if you had one.”

“Mmm,” said Smoothie, pressing his lips together into a tight line. This was the last thing he wanted to get into, but hiding something from Nick wasn’t advisable, at least not until he’d gained back the other man’s trust. He let out a little huff and then said, “I’m not very good at these types of conversations. I didn’t want to get into one, and I…well. I solved the problem through my usual methods, and now I can see how that might have been hasty.”

“Define ‘these types of conversations’.”

“In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had one before,” the killer admitted, thinking it over. “Not really. A conversation about how I _feel_ , I mean.” 

Nick’s scowl deepened. By now it was etched so firmly into the hitman’s face that it looked as though it might be permanent. “Fuck you and your feelings, Smoothie. You don’t have any.”

“Exactly.” Smoothie’s voice was blank and to the point, and something about how empty it was made Nick’s stomach turn. The little man was looking at him with nothing but cold interest. Smoothie cocked his head to one side. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“It ain’t no fuckin’ surprise, Jeffrey Dahmer.”

“I didn’t realize you were such an idealist. Such a romantic. But you are, aren’t you, deep down? All you want is for someone to feel something for you.”

“Shut up.”

“I think I would, if I could,” Smoothie said with an air of curiosity, as if it might be worth trying. “To be entirely honest, maybe I do. But it isn’t what you’re looking for. It isn’t love.”

He watched Nick’s whole body recoil when that word came out of his mouth. 

“Shut the fuck up,” the hitman repeated, his voice taking on a deep and deadly quality. 

“Am I making you nervous? I know, I know, these conversations are so difficult.”

“I’m not gonna warn you again, shitbag. Shut your mouth unless you want my fist in it.”

That was a nice image, one that Smoothie wouldn’t have minded trying out. Nick always knew just what to say to pique his interest. 

He let everything linger in uncomfortable silence for a minute and listened to the heavy, hateful sound of Nick’s breathing. He wanted to get lost in the rhythm of it. Finally he said, “I think that if I _could_ love something—correctly, I mean—I’d have to kill it. Just wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“Sick fuck.”

“It’s a compulsion. Something like being an addict, maybe,” Smoothie said, flashing a mean grin in Nick’s direction, which the hitman met with a silent, steely stare. “But you know I’m not going to kill you, Nick. Otherwise I’d be doing it right now, wouldn’t I? Playing doctor with you. _Mm._ ”

Even the thought of it made him wish that he’d chosen one of those restraint beds instead of the cage; the hatred brimming behind Nick’s eyes made Smoothie want to touch him more than anything. Maybe with his hands, or maybe with something a little sharper. 

“Probably not love, then,” he sighed. “But don’t let that spoil it. You’re still my magnum opus. My greatest achievement, my passion project, that one _truly_ great thing I was destined to accomplish in life. Isn’t that just as good?”

“You’re like a fuckin’ machine,” Nick said, and it wasn’t a compliment. “How does it feel to be a Roomba instead of a person, Smoothie?”

“Better than it feels to be you, tiger. No cage.”

Nick made a disgusted noise, tightening his fingers around the bars until his knuckles cracked. He hated how easily he’d fallen for this entire pile of bullshit. Part of him had actually started to believe that Smoothie might not stab him in the back. That was how he’d felt this morning, at least. He couldn’t help but feel that it should’ve been obvious from the start. 

“So what’s next then, what’s your big master plan?” he demanded. “Go ahead and fill me in, douchebag. Still involves killing Orcus, if I’m not mistaken?”

“I told you, we can’t kill Orcus. He sounded more confident than he had any right to, when he said it. Suspiciously so,” said Smoothie. “But he can die, somehow. Just have to find out how.”

“And your brilliant plan for that is…?”

“Get close to him, learn more. Meanwhile, you can explore any other leads we’ve got.”

“Gonna be a little difficult to do that from in here.”

Nick rapped one set of knuckles against the steel, leaning into the bars with a scowl. Smoothie gave him a playful little smile. 

“Like I said, I’m not very good at these conversations. Neither are you, I’m sure, we’re birds of a feather. It felt like a better idea to put a wall between us, knowing I’d be hurting your feelings, and knowing that you’d wake up with an axe to grind,” he said. “But I’ll let you out once I’m certain you’ll behave.”

“You’re the one who hasn’t been behaving.”

“I know, I know. We bring out the worst in each other,” said Smoothie with a dreamy smile. “But I won’t hurt you any more than you ask me to, at least not today, if you show me the same courtesy.” 

“Nothing stopping you from knocking me out again whenever it suits your fancy, though.”

“Nothing but your sparkling personality.”

Nick wanted out of the cage, but he still didn’t trust it, especially not after having been burned so harshly by Smoothie’s predictable betrayal. Even if Smoothie let him out without pulling some kind of trick, Nick wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist crushing the little man into dust. He was angry, and even though it made him sick to realize it, he was more than a little bit hurt—the chilly voice that Smoothie used when he talked about _love_ was painful and unnerving, and cut him to the core. Nick felt it right in his lack of self-esteem. 

“You want me to trust you, is that it? Fine. Tit for tat, then. C’mon over here, baby,” he dared. “Maybe I’ll let you unlock the door, or maybe I’ll yank your head through these bars and turn you into my own personal glory hole, who’s to say? Only one way to find out.”

“Mff.” Smoothie bit his lip and imagined it. He thought he felt his heart skip a beat, but that could’ve just been a fluke. “Sounds like fun, but we should save it for another day.”

“Not sure I can save it,” Nick growled. “Might not be able to help myself. Call it a compulsion.”

“Ooh. Nick. You’re going to get me all hot and bothered if you keep talking like that,” said Smoothie, even though he looked perfectly cool and collected. 

“I’ll get you hot, baby. Come on. Been waiting for me to _really_ put my hands on you, haven’t you?” Nick sneered, his voice taking on a violent, sultry edge that he knew Smoothie wouldn’t be able to resist. “I’ll bet you want it, at least a little bit. Wanna feel me turn you into a classic New York pretzel. That must be why you keep pissing me off.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry.”

Nick reached through the bars and rapped his fingers temptingly on the concrete floor. “Come here, then. Get a closer look.” 

“Only if you promise to be good.”

“No promises.”

Against his better judgment, Smoothie accepted that answer. Nick matched his motions when he stood up and moved towards the cage door, mimicking every step like a funhouse mirror. The hitman’s hands stayed on the bars, right on either side of the lock. Smoothie could see his shoulders twitching, coiling up, ready to pounce. 

He braced himself for the inevitable. After all, he couldn’t blame Nick for wanting to blow off a bit of steam. 

He pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket and slipped one of them tentatively into the lock. 

The moment it clicked open was absolute chaos. 

Nick surged forward and slammed into the unlocked door, bursting it open before Smoothie could get out of the way and giving the killer a mouthful of cold steel. There was a loud clash of metal against metal as the door flung open and hit the bars, and the groan of the hinges matched the noise that Smoothie made when he spat blood out onto the ground. Nick only let the sound last for a second before he grabbed Smoothie by the coat, hoisted him up, and smashed him heavily into the steel bars behind them. Smoothie did his best to kick him off, but it was useless. Nick took every scratch and every jab of his heels with nothing more than a scoff.

“No, no, you’re no match, baby,” he laughed, squeezing tighter, pushing Smoothie into the steel hard enough to make him wheeze. “Should have thought about that before you went behind my back. It’s gonna feel real good, reminding you that I’m not someone to be fucked with.”

“ _Yes_ , it is,” Smoothie croaked, his head rolling forward, blood oozing from his smile. Nick struck him once across the face, hard, then dropped him to the floor like a bag of bones and meat. He let Smoothie cough blood out onto the concrete just long enough to take pride in the sight, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and looked around for something creative to bash his head into. 

He dragged the killer out into the middle of the warehouse with a long, loud whistle and threw him down again. Smoothie landed with a wet crack. 

“This place is a goldmine, look at this,” Nick said fondly, stamping one foot between Smoothie’s shoulder blades to keep him down. He examined the series of implements on a nearby cart and picked up a big, ugly metal device that looked like it was meant for breaking fingers. “Now see, if I had one of these, Blue would have liked me better. What should we start with? Got any professional recommendations?”

He scanned the room with increasing interest, letting his imagination run wild. There was a nasty-looking row of meat hooks against the far wall, a series of restraint gurneys that Smoothie had probably had brought over from the mob hospital, and several contraptions Nick had never even seen before. He dragged Smoothie to one of the beds and hauled him onto it, ignoring the way that the killer started to shake his head.

“Nick,” Smoothie managed, still trying to clean the blood from his mouth. He kept trying to push Nick’s hands away, even when Nick grabbed one of his wrists and shackled it to the railing of the bed. 

“Shh, don’t you worry. Nice and comfy,” the hitman growled, tightening the strap hard enough to make Smoothie wince. “I know you’ll enjoy every second of it, you sick fuck, don’t shake your head at me like that. Knock off the pity party.”

Maybe he paused because of the fact that Smoothie shook his head again, or maybe it was because the killer only stopped shaking his head to retch blood onto the concrete floor. 

“Jesus Christ, really?” Nick snapped. “Look at you. You talk a big game, but look at you now, you’re half dead. I only hit you once.” 

Smoothie’s mind was swimming. He wanted to point out that although it was technically true that Nick had only hit him once, Nick hit a lot harder than the average man. He tried to say that, but by the time he caught his breath to speak, Nick was already shackling his other hand with rough, unkind touches. 

“No one would be afraid of you if it weren’t for all your little toys,” he said into Smoothie’s ear while he cinched the restraints tight. He didn’t bother with the ankle straps. It would be nice getting to watch the killer fight for it. “You ain’t shit without your chloroform, your ball gags, your penis slicer, whatever. You’re just a little guy who loves shooting his mouth off, like a fucking shih-tzu in the dog park. Can’t even hit you again, you’d break like a porcelain doll.”

Smoothie made a small, affirmative sound. He tried to drain some of the blood from his mouth, and then strung a handful of words together. “Maybe just. More gently. Next time.” 

Nick threw his head back and laughed, giving the bed a sharp rattle with one hand just for the sake of intimidation. “That wasn’t even a warm-up for me.” 

He let his hands skate up Smoothie’s arms, starting at the restraints and ending on either side of the killer’s neck in a snug grip that left no room for argument. He thumbed away a bit of the blood on Smoothie’s chin and leaned in with a dry, dour smile. When he spoke he sounded almost patient, though still a little pissed off. “Here’s the deal. Let’s talk. Open lines of communication and all that. The next time I feel a needle in my ass and wake up in a compromising position, you’re gonna lose something. Two teeth or two fingers, you can pick. Doesn’t matter to me. Understood?” 

“Mff. Yes.” 

He could feel Smoothie starting to relax into it, just as he’d predicted—the killer’s fingertips were twitching excitedly against the rail already. 

“Right. Consider this your only warning. You won’t get another one, it’ll just be lights out,” Nick said, giving Smoothie a shake by the neck for emphasis and watching his red eye roll precariously in the socket before righting itself. “Now, the next thing—and listen to me closely for this one, Smoothie, because this one’s real goddamn important—I shouldn’t have to have any kind of ‘conversation’ with you about a screwed up, fucked up roleplay scenario that you _asked_ me to describe. Feels a little bit like kink shaming, which, I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect from you _of all goddamn people_ ,” Nick snarled. “So in the future, I’d appreciate it if we kept the whole ‘feelings’ talk off the table. I’d rather not get into it again. Got it?” 

He looked into Smoothie’s eyes and hated the smug glimmer that he saw dancing in them. When Smoothie didn’t say anything, Nick shook him more roughly and then tightened his fingers around the other man’s throat until he saw Smoothie’s eyes flutter shut. “Don’t make me ask you again. Get it? Got it? Or not?”

“Mmhmm. Just one thing?” Smoothie hissed through his teeth. 

“Go for it.”

Even though Nick had the killer restrained, the alarm bells started going off in his mind when Smoothie strained toward his lips a little and said softly, “I like that _you_ feel something.” 

Those words made Nick seethe like nothing else. 

“Red fucking line,” he warned. “You’re real close to it right now.”

“Makes me wonder,” Smoothie wheezed when Nick tightened his grip again threateningly. He pushed through the pain, the words grinding out of his throat. “Anything you can do, I can do better, can’t I?”

“Stop it.”

“Who knows?”

“Stop,” said Nick, letting go of Smoothie abruptly, as if the other man were something poisonous and unfit to touch. That made Smoothie laugh, and he sat up as best he could only to snap his red, bloodied teeth at Nick’s coat. 

“Maybe if you hit me hard enough,” the killer panted, an excited tremor working its way into his voice. “What do you think, tiger? Think that’ll knock a feeling loose?” 

He loved the way Nick’s face twisted into a deeper and more vicious scowl. 

“Maybe if you break me open like a _piñata_ , they’ll all come falling out,” Smoothie suggested breathlessly. “All those missing feelings. Then you can have every single one.”

He wanted it, suddenly; to feel something. He wanted it more vividly than he’d ever imagined he would. 

He was jealous. That’s what it was, he realized. He hated the idea that Nick was capable of something more than him. It was a challenge, and Smoothie had never been able to turn down a challenge; particularly not one that involved Nick Sax. 

One of Nick’s hands landed on his chest when the hitman loomed over him again. Nick pushed him down into the stark white sheet of the bed and kept his hand there, pinning him with almost no effort at all, and then looked down at him with those big, stormy eyes. Smoothie could see a hint of pity flickering beneath the scowl.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Nick muttered. Some of the anger faded from his voice as he went on, but Nick replaced it with bitterness. “You don’t even know whether or not you’re capable of it. Never had a girlfriend, boyfriend, anything?”

“A few,” Smoothie said. 

“And still nothing?” 

“Never.” 

Nick’s face hadn’t changed, but his fingertips were moving against the fabric of Smoothie’s shirt now, feeling the way that the killer’s breath quickened when the touches got softer. He let his voice match the gentle, inquisitive energy of his fingers when he leaned in to say, “Never quite met your match, though, did you?” 

Smoothie didn’t say anything. He only made a satisfied sound and twisted underneath Nick’s touch. Nick let his hand move lazily over the other man’s body, keeping him pinned down with gentle anticipation instead of force. 

“You’ve never had a worthy adversary before,” he said keenly, looking into the killer’s dark eye and trying to find a spark of humanity inside it. “Never had me.”

He watched Smoothie’s eyes roll shut, and then felt him shiver. 

“Mm, I’ll have you, Nick,” the killer sighed, dazed and dreamy underneath Nick’s fingertips. He smiled, and even though his grin was bright red, Nick found it strangely pretty. “It’s my destiny.”

Those words were enough to quell Nick’s anger, somehow. He felt it melt away, as if he’d shed a heavy coat or a layer of dead skin. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if it would be more or less fucked up to have make-up sex after a fight like this; on the one hand he wanted it badly, but on the other, Smoothie looked like he could use a first aid kit. 

Smoothie’s eyes opened when Nick started to undo the wrist restraints. He watched with passive curiosity until they were both undone, and by the time he took in a breath to ask Nick why he’d changed his tune, the other man was already kissing him as if it were an apology. 

To Smoothie, it felt better than anything else. He liked the way that his jaw ached terribly when he opened his mouth for Nick. He loved the fact that the hitman kissed him just as eagerly when he was covered in blood as he did under any other circumstances. He didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as he did when Nick’s motions slowed to something simmering and savoring, those rough hands smoothing over all of the scrapes and bruises as if Nick could will them away. 

“I shouldn’t have hit you,” he heard Nick murmur softly, as if he could barely remember doing it.

Smoothie only scoffed, but Nick’s hand came to rest against his sore cheek anyway, pressing a little bit cruelly into the bruise as if he wasn’t aware that Smoothie was capable of feeling pain. 

“It’s nothing,” the killer insisted. “I’ve been hit harder, recreationally.”

“Still, though.”

“Hit me, don’t hit me, it’s all the same to me.” 

“I know. But not to me,” Nick said. He thought back on all the times he’d lost his temper with Amanda, how he’d smashed dishes and glasses in drunken stupors and never apologized in the morning. He let Smoothie’s insistent grip on his scarf drag him out of the bad memory and into another bright red kiss. Nick couldn’t even taste chocolate anymore, only hot, bloody copper. 

When he broke away, he let out a greedy growl and pressed his lips against the killer’s ear to mutter, “Don’t do it again.”

Smoothie looked like he considered the request, at least for a second or two, but there was nothing honest about his smile when he put one hand over Nick’s heart and said coyly, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Smoothie.” Nick tried to look harsh and cold to communicate how serious he was, but that only widened the other man’s surreptitious grin. “Just don’t do it again.”

“How else am I supposed to get you where I want you?” 

“Unconsciousness is one of my standard states of existence. Gimme a bottle of Jack, a few quaaludes, and a blowjob and you can probably drag me just about anywhere you like,” Nick said, studying the killer’s face. He started to wipe all of the blood away with the cuff of his coat, beginning with an ugly scratch near Smoothie’s temple from where the steel door had hit him and then working his way down. “Better yet, just ask me.”

Smoothie didn’t look like he understood the concept of _asking_ very well, but he made a small noise indicating that he would consider it regardless. The scratchy weave of Nick’s coat cuff felt nice when it moved over his lips. It made him want more. 

It was almost too easy to let his head roll back into Nick’s touch. The hitman finished cleaning the blood from him and then looked to see if he’d missed a spot. He was trying to be tender, Smoothie could tell, but Nick’s hands were so tough and his face was so haggard that it only made him look ridiculous. If Smoothie was a china shop, then Nick was a bull who didn’t know his own size or strength; tenderness was a wasted effort. 

But Nick’s body was warm, at least, and when he gathered Smoothie up in his arms the dark, inviting smell of him was overwhelming. Smoothie didn’t mind getting swept up in it while he had the chance. He let Nick hold him close, even though it stung—he could feel every ache now that the adrenaline had worn off, and Nick didn’t hug him gently. He felt the hitman squeeze him closer until his face was buried in the lapel of Nick’s coat. 

Smoothie could taste rail vodka and cough syrup on the fabric, and there was a whiff of long-faded Drakkar Noir underneath it all, which was enticing. He didn’t want to drift deeper into the embrace; Nick might take it the wrong way, or even worse, the _right_ way. Things would be more clean and less complicated if Nick remained ignorant of the fact that all Smoothie wanted to do was sink his teeth into the other man and never let go. 

He knew that wasn’t love, per say. 

But it was something, and that was unnerving enough. 

He pulled his face from the crook of the embrace and brought it to Nick’s ear, trying not to aggravate any strains or bruises, then kept it short: “We should go.” 

“No rush,” Nick mumbled. Smoothie felt the hitman’s arms tighten around him harder, which drove a masochistic whine out of him. 

“It’s a long drive back.” 

“No point going back. It’d be a better idea to find somewhere local to lay low. We should stake the area out,” said Nick. “Keep an eye on Orcus, see what we can see. Might at least get a new lead out of it.” 

“Police work isn’t exactly my game.”

“Leave that part to me, you do the ‘how the fuck do we kill it’ part. You’re good at that,” Nick said, giving Smoothie a confident little pat on the back. “Now where the hell are we? Doesn’t sound like Manhattan, not enough car horns. Sounds like someplace we could find a Waffle House or something.” 

Smoothie hated the fact that _that_ was Nick’s brilliant suggestion—Waffle House. He couldn’t think of a single thing that appealed to him less, up to and including swallowing a Beretta. 

“The city will be easier,” he said, which they both knew was a lie, given the traffic at this hour. 

“Too good for Waffle House, but not too good for a golden shower. I see how it is.” 

“Look—”

“Does it sound like I’m shaming it? I guess I kind of am,” Nick admitted. It didn’t sound like he planned to change tactics. “Still fucks me up, is all. Unlike a perfectly good Waffle House. Besides, it’ll be too dangerous in the city. Swarming with old enemies.”

“Whose?” Smoothie asked. “Mine are in the ground. Yours believe that you’re dead.” 

“And I’d like to keep it that way.” 

Nick didn’t trust the smile that spread across Smoothie’s face, especially not when the killer lowered his voice and said, “I know someplace that Nick Sax could never be found.” 

The idea of going anywhere that Smoothie suggested felt like a death wish waiting to come true, but he pulled Nick into the most convincing of kisses, the kind that couldn’t be argued with. The hitman was no match. 

_Ah, well,_ Nick thought. 

He’d always had a death wish, after all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys I’m still in quarantine and the draft of this is literally over 100 pages, you are legally allowed to hunt me for sport


	4. Chapter 4

Smoothie’s idea of “someplace that Nick Sax could never be found” was apparently a lot different than what Nick had pictured. 

It was a dark, seedy corner booth in an uptown dive bar, which seemed like an oxymoron until Nick noticed how carefully curated the grunge was. It felt like a cheap, mass-produced replica of something edgy, something with all of the aesthetic and none of the authenticity. Nick found himself chipping at the wooden edges of the table just to give it some actual character. 

It was dim and crowded, and a deep, electronic bass rhythm seeped from a set of nearby speakers, permeating the floor, the walls, and Nick’s skull. He could tell that the place was Smoothie’s home turf, because every now and again someone in the crowd tried to catch the killer’s eye with an overly-familiar glance or a wave, only to be completely disregarded. 

“I could be found here,” Nick argued, once he’d settled into the comfortable darkness of the booth. The furniture was the one thing he couldn’t complain about. It was cozy, and the back of the booth was angled manipulatively, which encouraged Smoothie to lean into him instead of the cushions. 

“Doubt it,” Smoothie told him. Nick watched him order a drink with a series of silent gestures to the bartender, who clearly knew him. 

“Thought you didn’t have a social life,” Nick growled. He didn’t like the look of the bartender. No bartender _that_ handsome was pouring good drinks, first of all, and secondly, it was uncomfortable to think of anyone knowing Smoothie casually. Thirdly, and maybe most importantly, the come-hither look the guy was flashing Smoothie from behind the bar was enough to make Nick lay his arms over the back of the booth posessively and scowl.

Smoothie only laughed, and said, “Social life? No.” 

“Sure looks like you’ve got a favorite bar.”

“I have exactly four favorite bars,” Smoothie said, his voice quiet and calculated, tipping his rosy red glasses down the bridge of his nose to smile at the bartender again. “Each of them is half a city block from a vacant apartment or storage unit, or one of the spots Blue used to let me use. They’re all very popular, especially with tourists.” 

“Son of a bitch,” said Nick. 

“Not all gay bars, obviously, but this one is. Might be my favorite of the favorites. Can’t tell you how many men he’s watched me go home with,” the killer said softly into Nick’s ear, inclining his head toward the bartender. Each word was sharp and prickling, designed to make Nick’s blood heat up just the way he wanted. “I’ll bet he thinks I’m such a slut, Nick. Wouldn’t you?”

It was hard to resist answering that, but Nick was still disgusted by the fact that he was sitting in the middle of Smoothie’s hunting ground, not his social life. He waited until a waiter brought their drinks, since the place was either fancy enough for that or Smoothie was just well-liked enough for that, and took the martini out of the man’s hand only to chug it down in one gulp before pushing the glass back.

“Just keep those coming, better start a tab,” he recommended to the waiter. He watched Smoothie take a sip of his drink and tried not to focus too hard on the other man’s lips on the rim of the glass; he didn’t want to think about how good they looked there, and how much better they would look right where Nick wanted them most. He shifted his eyes back to the crowd and felt Smoothie settle against him. 

“I’ll bet they all think you’re the reason I’ve been away for so long. Swept up in some starry-eyed romance,” the killer said, conversationally. “Drop off the map for six months without a word, then show up again with a bruiser like you in tow. I’ll bet they think you keep me awake all night long, looking the way that you do. Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

“—Alright, look,” said Nick with a bit of a wince. “Don’t get me wrong; under normal circumstances that would’ve gotten me harder than a piece of rebar, but I’ve gotta be honest, Smoothie, there’s something I don’t like about hearing you say the word _daddy_ after that whole…Well, you know. Kidnapping thing.”

Smoothie took another sip of his martini and considered whether or not to argue about it. Instead he decided to keep the pet name in his back pocket for later. Making Nick beg to hear it again would be an interesting challenge. 

“So that’s your only hobby, then,” Nick said, changing the subject abruptly. “Keeping up the ruse, snagging the occasional unsuspecting passerby?”

“I don’t do much outside of work. Always on call.”

“Ever think that you might want to pick a hobby that _isn’t_ something you already do at work?”

Smoothie considered it, then said, “No.”

“There must be something else you like.”

“Nothing that constitutes a hobby. Used to collect bugs, but I outgrew it. Started collecting bigger and better things,” Smoothie said. “Vinyl records, there’s one. I have a big collection of those, almost as big as my collection of teeth.”

“Never say that again,” Nick requested. When the waiter brought him another martini, he couldn’t drink it fast enough. He caught the man by the wrist and said, “Just bring a bottle, capeesh?”

“Gotcha,” said the waiter, sounding relieved and only _slightly_ concerned for Nick’s health. 

Smoothie watched the man go with a predatory look in his eyes, but soon turned his attention back to the crowd, watching like a wolf in the pasture. 

He had always come here alone in the past and put on a sweet, naive face to ingratiate himself with the crowd. It wasn’t difficult to look approachable when he was faking it. It had always been so easy to pick someone up in a place like this, to put the right whisper in the right ear and then get his mark alone somewhere where the chloroform could set in uninterrupted. 

It was nice being able to not look approachable, for once; it almost felt like he could be himself. He liked getting to watch the maze of people without anyone trying to get his attention or his phone number. More than that, he liked the way that Nick’s fingers flexed and knotted into a fist every time someone in the crowd looked over with interest for too long. 

“Did you bring me here just to show me off, or to lord it over me about how easy it should’ve been for the homicide department to find your trail?” Nick growled. He saluted lazily to the waiter when he returned with a bottle of vodka. 

“Oh, they did. Didn’t matter, though. Perks of the job. It all got slid under the rug, with a little bit of help from Blue. Sometimes people just go missing,” Smoothie said. 

“Huh. Just to show me off, then.”

Smoothie smiled up at the hitman over his shoulder and said bitingly, “You sound nervous. Never been out in public with another man, have you?”

“Not relevant,” said Nick, reaching for the vodka without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t think you count. Not because you’ve got no dick, that’s got nothing to do with it, just because you’re fucked up in the head enough to warrant your own category.”

Smoothie made a noise of disagreement, but it died in his throat when Nick’s arm slipped from the back of the booth down to his shoulders. The hitman’s hand clamped onto him and pulled him in tight. He heard Nick take a swig of the vodka, and then felt Nick’s lips and teeth against the back of his scalp. 

“Within half a block of someplace more private, you said?” Nick asked, sounding more than ready to ditch the bar even though he was only a quarter of the way into his bottle of vodka. “Wouldn’t hurt to go ahead and lay low until morning.”

“In a rush to leave?” Smoothie asked, keeping his voice cool and still even when he felt the hitman’s teeth tease the back of his neck. 

“I think you know what I’m in a rush to get to.”

“Ooh. Feeling bold, I see.”

There was a haughty note of denial in Smoothie’s voice. In spite of that, when Nick’s lips drifted to the sweet spot just behind his ear the killer couldn’t hold back a small, satisfied sigh. He let Nick’s insistent fingers tip his head forward for better access, loving the fact that his compliance only made Nick’s lips scrape at him harder.

“ _Ah_. Very bold,” he noted under his breath. 

“Bold enough to show your favorite bartender what you’re into, you little freak,” said Nick smugly. He managed to catch the bartender’s eye right before he snapped his teeth insistently at the killer’s earlobe, which made Smoothie let out a sharp, ecstatic sound. Nick loved that noise; he could feel his body responding to it already. It was difficult to bring his lips away from the other man’s skin. When Nick finally did, his voice was a low, animalistic rumble. “Wish you’d make a sound like that the next time I’m balls deep in you. Which could be within the next ten minutes, if you’re done showing me off.”

Smoothie quickly collected himself, then flashed the bartender a smile and a helpless shrug to smooth things over again. He only turned back to Nick to say, “I don’t think it’s your turn next time.”

“What?”

“Not your turn. You already got one. Next one is mine.”

“That isn’t how sex works, but it’s nice to know that you think it is,” Nick noted without hiding his disdain. “And unless you’ve got a strap in the car, it looks like you’re out of luck. Now look, I know, you’re real sore, but I won’t hurt you too bad. Might even be real gentle this time, if you want.” 

“Please don’t,” Smoothie said without elaboration. He went on, “Besides, there are more interesting things out there than run-of-the-mill penetration.”

“I totally disagree.”

“Spoken like someone with a penis,” said Smoothie, with a nasty little note of superiority in his voice. “Hardly surprising to hear that you’re not a very _inventive_ lover.” 

“Use that word again and I’ll throw up.”

“Oh, hm? Inventive?”

“You know which fuckin’ word I meant.” Nick released his hand from Smoothie’s shoulder just long enough to move it to his waist insistently. He thought about how easy it would be to throw the killer over his shoulder and leave. He wondered if anyone would even stop him, or if these people knew Smoothie well enough to assume that it was all some sort of kinky game. 

He hated the thrumming bass music and wanted nothing more than the gentle roar of the city streets instead. At this point he didn’t care where they went or what they did, as long as he could get Smoothie alone someplace. He didn’t care to spend another minute in the overcrowded hunting ground. 

“I’m inventive,” Nick said in defense of himself, imagining some of the more colorful things that he wanted to do once they were alone. 

“Are you? Let’s play a game, then.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You don’t.”

“Fine, deal me in.”

“Tell me who you would pick,” Smoothie insisted, tilting his head up to feel Nick’s beard against his lips, which was almost tempting enough to make the hitman drag him out of the bar and off to the nearest dark alley to have his way with him. Smoothie scanned the crowd with hungry eyes. “If you were me. Out of all of them, who would you pick?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Nick. “I’m not interested in this game, Smoothie.”

“Don’t be shy.”

“Never did it for anything but the money.” Nick knew it was a lie before the words were even out of his mouth. He’d never shied away from killing when someone crossed him, after all. He’d put bullets in people even for minor offenses, if he disliked them enough or if he was in a hurry. On top of that, he usually did it with a sarcastic comment and a smile on his face. 

“Mm. I’ve _watched_ you,” said Smoothie against his skin, pressing in toward the hitman as if those words were a naughty little secret between the two of them, threatening to undo Nick’s already dicey composure. “It’s like watching a painter wield a brush. Such a creative spark behind each of your kills, isn’t there? No two exactly the same. You’re more of an impressionist than I am.” 

“Impressionist?”

“Imprecise, whimsical. Slapping paint on the canvas however it strikes your fancy. It’s an undisciplined approach, but I can’t tell you how exciting it is to see firsthand.” 

There was a part of Nick that loved hearing that, a part that took genuine pride in it. It wasn’t every day that someone told him he was good at something, after all. He already knew that he was good at putting people in the ground, but it was nice to finally get a little recognition from a coworker—especially Smoothie, someone for whom putting people in the ground was more of a lifestyle than a career choice. 

Smoothie’s lips brushed up against him again and the killer went on to say, “The whimsicality is something I find very attractive about you. It keeps things interesting. You’ve always been such a wildcard.” 

Nick couldn’t help but smile at that. He let himself lean back into the dark corner of the booth and scanned the crowd. It felt wrong just thinking about it, even though Nick knew it was only one of Smoothie’s twisted little games. He leaned down to murmur into the killer’s ear, “Out of anyone in here, you said?”

“Not counting the two of us. Obviously if given the option, you’d be my first and only choice.”

“Aw, Smoothie. That almost sounds sweet, coming from you.”

“It is,” the killer confirmed. 

“Think I’ll pick your favorite bartender. The one who can’t take a fuckin’ hint,” Nick told him. He locked eyes with the bartender again and gave him a curt little smirk and a wave. It wasn’t returned. 

“Too obvious, too missable. You aren’t good at this game,” Smoothie noted. 

“Alright, mister practice-makes-perfect, what’s your criteria?”

It only took Smoothie a handful of seconds to lock in on a target. 

“There’s a man on the other side of the bar, near the window. Doesn’t want to get too far away from the door. Must be shy,” Smoothie said, his eyes latching on to the stranger while Nick peered over his shoulder to get a better look. “He’s on his fourth drink in the hour, clearly knows how to have a good time. Judging by his body weight, he’ll be good and lacquered for another hour at least. Easily manipulated, easily spirited away with no one any much the wiser.”

“Jesus, Smoothie.”

“Big enough that no one will think he was taken anywhere against his will. That’s my favorite. You could say I have a type.” The killer’s eyes flashed up toward Nick and then back. “He isn’t here with anyone, either. Not expecting anyone else, not with the way he keeps scanning the bar, hoping to catch an eye.”

Nick heard a long, wistful sigh come out of the other man. 

“Ideal opportunity,” Smoothie said. “Such a shame that I already have company.”

“Wow, thanks, real sweet of you.”

Smoothie didn’t say anything, not even something snide, which was a little bit worrying to Nick. At first it made him suspect that the killer had foul play on his mind, but then he suspected something worse; that Smoothie might be getting bored of him already now that there wasn’t a deadly chase to keep him engaged. 

He let his arm slide away, and Smoothie didn’t even seem to notice. The killer only finished his martini, wrinkled his nose, and stared across the bar with fixed eyes. Nick didn’t have to think too hard to figure out what he was imagining.

“One-track mind?” Nick snapped, a little bit more sharply than he meant to.

“Hmmm.”

“Do me a favor and at least quit looking like you’re eye-fucking the guy, you’re gonna give him the wrong idea,” said Nick under his breath, taking another swig of the vodka. His words didn’t have any effect on the other man, which was starting to grind his gears. He took one more emphatic gulp from the bottle and then set it down loudly on the table before grabbing the back of Smoothie’s collar. One firm tug finally got the killer’s attention. “I said stop looking at him.”

“Nick, is that—?” Smoothie sneered, unable to keep a cruel giggle from bubbling up between the words. “Is that _jealousy_ that I hear? Look at you, getting attached.”

“Quit the yapping, and quit the looking.”

“Such a brute,” Smoothie said playfully, snickering with laughter again when Nick gave him a rough shake. He could almost hear the hitman’s teeth grinding together in annoyance, and he loved it. More than that, he loved the fact that a few sets of eyes flashed over toward them from the bar, just to check and see if he needed help—each of them turned away again when they saw him bite his lip and roll his shoulders into Nick’s harsh touch. “Tell me, Nick, does it feel good? Treating me the way that you do? Doesn’t it make you want to let it all out?”

“Makes me want to do a lot of things,” Nick admitted in a grumble of a voice. 

“I can see it in you, you know. I can tell. You’ve killed just for the pleasure of it, just because it gets you off. Just like me,” Smoothie said with a terrible, knowing smile. Nick’s grip tightened dangerously at his collar and twisted, crumpling the pressed fabric. The killer let out a delicious noise in response, every fiber of his body delighting in the sensation, and then said, “We’re so alike, aren’t we? You and I were _made_ for each other.”

“Then knock off the googly-eyes.” 

“You know, I just can’t stop thinking about it. We should take him together. There’s room in the trunk,” Smoothie said, in a voice that was somehow cold, calculated, and absolutely starved all at once. “What do you think? I think it would be a nice bonding activity. Team-building. You could even call it a date.” 

“Not gonna happen, Romeo. Sounds like it’s time to cut you off.”

Nick grabbed the bottle of vodka and took one last mouthful of it, then dragged Smoothie out of the booth by the scruff of the neck. It was easy to muscle his way through the crowd. He heard Smoothie’s voice in the background over the bassline, fake and reassuring, giving the bartender some raunchy excuse for the hasty exit while he slipped the man his credit card. 

The moment he got the card back, Nick seized him by the arm and tugged him out the door. 

It was forty degrees outside, and the streets were dim and dreary. The sun was already going down over the city skyline, turning it into a row of jagged teeth and making it look like part of some great cosmic jack-o-lantern. Cigarette smoke and pumpkin spice drifted on the wind, catching in Nick’s nose as he shoved Smoothie out onto the sidewalk ahead of him. 

“Half a block, let’s get walking,” he said, hooking one arm lazily around Smoothie’s narrow shoulders. Smoothie looked disappointed to be leaving the bar, and he rolled his eyes to emphasize his annoyance before brushing Nick’s arm away and starting off down the sidewalk. 

He had been exactly right about it being half a block. The building he led Nick to was an old Italian restaurant with an ancient, dust-plated “CLOSED” sign on the front window and ugly, boarded-up windows that had been splattered with local graffiti art. Smoothie slipped a key into the door and made his way inside, shutting it behind Nick. 

It was almost pitch black inside until Smoothie turned on the overhead lights—Nick heard him make a little noise of surprise, as if he hadn’t expected them to still be in working condition. The building had been stripped clean of furniture long ago and outfitted for Blue’s more deadly types of business. The smell of metal and synthetic oil hung in the air, mingling with the haze of dust that swirled around Smoothie when he brushed past Nick and into the room.

“It’s not much, but at least it’s quiet,” said the killer, rubbing his temples and heading toward the back of the building. Nick followed, weaving between a few empty armament crates and ammunition boxes. 

“Anything good left in here?” he asked, casting a glance into one of the crates with interest. 

“Down here? No, one of Blue’s nephews used to run it. Spent his days filing the serial numbers off of semi-automatics, drooling over his phone. Someone raided it within hours after he died. Still got some use out of the upstairs for months, though,” said Smoothie. One of his keys opened another locked door at the back of the building and then he vanished up a flight of steep, narrow stairs that would have made any sane person feel claustrophobic. 

The stairwell was dark. Nick heard the scrape of Smoothie’s shoes on the tile floor upstairs, noting how distinct the sound was, and then when Nick heard him hit a switch, the upstairs room was flooded with painfully bright fluorescent light. It made Nick want to sink back down into the dim stairwell. 

Instead he climbed the rest of the way up, emerging into an uncomfortable-looking room full of sharp white angles and nasty metal furniture. 

“Now, you brought up a very good point to me earlier, Nick, one that I’m glad you _clearly_ devoted some thought to,” Smoothie said, sounding perfectly genuine, suspiciously devoid of his usual suspiciousness. He had already settled right back into the place, tossing his coat easily over one of the painful-looking metal racks and sliding into a black rolling chair to search through a set of drawers. Nick heard the sound of implements clinking together. 

“This doesn’t even look like the sketchiest Airbnb I’ve been in, to be honest,” he said as he scanned the room. As far as sketchiness was concerned, this place was still in his top five; the furniture looked custom-made, and it didn’t look like it had been made for anything fun or sexy. It looked like it had been designed for Smoothie’s _professional_ interests, or maybe for the Spanish Inquisition. Nick tried not to think too hard about that, and he turned his attention abruptly back to Smoothie to ask, “What point are you talking about?”

“No sex toys in the car? Obviously I’m not the kind of man who thinks that far ahead,” said Smoothie, swiveling in the chair to fix Nick with that one unblinking red eye. “Poor me, foiled once again by our very own nation’s new Sherlock Holmes; Nick Sax. I suppose there’s nothing to be done. Nothing but submit woefully to the inevitability of being ravished.”

“You’re talking like an encyclopedia,” Nick admitted. “Get to the point.”

“If only I weren’t such a disorganized person, such a poor planner. If only I had, say—just to give an example—one of the old interrogation rooms Blue gave me, with all of the equipment untouched.” Smoothie’s red eye didn’t blink or falter. “And if only some of that equipment included the particulars that I would need to bend you over and recreate our first little date; that really would be something, wouldn’t it? Ah, well. It’s too bad I’m such a dolt, isn’t it?”

“Ahhh, I get it. We’re doing sarcasm, I see.”

“Welcome to the program.”

The piece of metal in the room that Nick thought looked most inviting was a slatted steel examination table coated in a transparent tarp. He settled himself on top of the tarp, but didn’t take off his coat. It was still chilly, and unlike Smoothie, he wasn’t used to spending this much time around sharp, uncomfortable pieces of cold metal. After he’d gotten as comfortable as he could, he gave Smoothie a dry smile and said, “Sounds like you’re telling me that you’ve got a drawer full of dildos at work. Hitman to hitman, that actually _is_ kind of weird, even for New York.”

“Interrogation is a delicate art. A bit of strategic penetration can work wonders,” Smoothie said, his face breaking into a grin. “Just like it did with you. Really opened your mind, didn’t it?”

“Got it, you’re all geared up for round two,” Nick muttered. “And no, it wasn’t my _mind_ that got opened, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“I’ll admit, I didn’t anticipate our first few minutes of passion to have such an effect on you.”

“Alright, look,” Nick growled. He shifted uncomfortably and hated the sound of the plastic tarp crinkling underneath him. “You don’t get to take complete credit, I’ve always been a twenty-dollars-is-twenty-dollars kind of a guy.”

That made Smoothie raise his eyebrows in amusement, and he winked his one good eye before swiveling back to the set of drawers behind him. Nick didn’t like the sounds coming out of there. They were too sharp for his tastes.

“Now, let’s see. You’ll have to bear with me, because most of these are specifically designed to inflict pain,” he heard the killer muse, as if he were talking more to himself than to Nick. He pulled an intimidating harness out of one of the drawers, one that Nick abruptly looked away from because it reminded him of the sharp, tearing pain of those “first few minutes of passion” Smoothie had mentioned. He didn’t like the fact that the hair was starting to stand up on the back of his neck. He couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or anticipation. The sudden sound of latex snapping made him look over at Smoothie again reluctantly. 

“I—don’t know that the gloves are necessary,” he started, only to hear the other man hush him. Smoothie pulled on a second dark latex glove with a snap. 

“Shh, shh. Don’t be so anxious,” he said, in a voice that might have been soothing if not for the bone-white and gunmetal surroundings. “Go ahead and relax. You’ll need to. You were so tense last time, it was like pulling teeth. Not that I don’t love pulling teeth.” 

“Maybe it was like fucking someone up the ass without any lube, actually, ever think of that?”

“Hm. I’m open to changing that,” said Smoothie, as if an alternative had been up for discussion. 

“Look, you’re making me have some serious second thoughts about this entire scenario,” Nick told him. 

“Far too late for that, I think.”

“Never too late to break your head open like a coconut and pretend none of this ever happened, actually.”

That got Smoothie’s attention. Nick watched his shoulders roll underneath his shirt, saw him crack his neck and then his knuckles. He smiled at Nick over his shoulder, and there was nothing kind or honest about it. 

“Now, now, Nick. Don’t be shy. This morning you confessed that you’d _paid_ someone to do what I’m about to do to you. It’s perfectly acceptable to want it. Even to want me, specifically.”

“I’m not so sure that it is,” Nick admitted, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that was growing ever worse. He found himself wishing that he’d brought the rest of the vodka, just for the sake of washing down his own anxiety. 

He felt his heart twinge when Smoothie pulled out two dildos, only one of which looked like it would be remotely tolerable inside someone. The killer gestured with both of them and made an innocent little face, as if requesting that Nick make a choice. 

“Jesus Christ, obviously the normal one,” said Nick, referring to the one that wasn’t made of metal and which looked at least something like a human penis. “The hell do you think I am, some kind of goddamn anal connoisseur?” 

Smoothie threw the metal one over his shoulder and smiled when it landed with a sharp clang on the other side of the room. He held up the other, something reasonably sized and made of clean black silicone, and said, “This, then?” 

“Ahh. Um, sure,” said Nick, sounding unconvinced. 

“You’re afraid,” Smoothie noted. The realization obviously pleased him. “You don’t need to be, but I don’t mind. You know I’ll only enjoy it more if you are.”

“Right, that’s what worries me. Not sure you’ll resist the opportunity to jam another needle in my butt.” 

“Much better things to jam,” said the killer with an appreciative smirk. He leaned back in the rolling chair, rocking it lazily for a few moments while he admired the fight-or-flight reaction that Nick seemed to be going through. Finally he said, “I’m not going to tranquilize you, Nick. I want you to be awake and attentive for this. We’ve both been waiting a long time to finish what we started, back when I first had you all to myself.” 

“Not a fond memory.”

“Mm, no, probably not for you. Still turns you on, though, I can see that. Very interesting.”

“Look, buddy, like I said,” Nick growled in his own defense, shifting pointedly to try to hide the fact that his blood was already stirring down below just from hearing Smoothie _talk_ about fucking him. “Sparked a bit of curiosity. Didn’t say I fuckin’ appreciated how it all went down.”

“I think you did, actually. All that chemistry between us might never have come to fruition if I’d relied on your cooperation. You would have turned me down, I’m sure.”

Nick didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t want to go into the fact that he most definitely would _not_ have turned the killer down if the option had ever presented itself. He was starting to get uncomfortable—not just because there was a solid 85% chance that he was about to let Smoothie break him in, but because words like “chemistry” and “cooperation” didn’t sit right with him when they came out of Smoothie’s mouth. He said them as if they were something taboo, some kind of nasty little secret. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re turning me down now, does it?” Smoothie demanded. 

“Doesn’t look that way.” 

“Tell me, what does rock bottom feel like?”

Nick said nothing again at first, listening to that sentence linger in the air, and then narrowed his eyes a little. “You think this is my rock bottom? Did you not see the dumpster fire that was my life back when it was in full swing?” 

“This is a new low, even for you.”

“Rock bottom,” said Nick. Smoothie could almost hear the gears whirring into overdrive inside the hitman’s alcohol-addled brain. “That’s what you think of yourself, mister high and mighty? Rock bottom?”

“Not what I meant,” said Smoothie, curtly. 

“That’s exactly what you meant. I’ve got self-loathing worked down to a science, you can’t hide that shit from me.” 

“I think quite highly of myself.” 

“Sure you do. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. But then you go off and find someone to piss on you and slap you around, and start obsessing over a guy who hates everything you stand for.”

“The pot, Nick. The kettle. Need I say more?”

Nick shook his head. “Nah, we both know I’m not any better. But I get it now. Your number one kink is inflicting the worst shit imaginable on other people, and out of everyone in this city, I’m the baddest son of a bitch who’s ever crossed you. But out of everything in that twisted imagination of yours, Smoothie, the worst thing you can think to inflict on me is your own company, isn’t that right? Now ain’t _that_ sad.”

He saw the killer’s nose wrinkle. Nick was used to seeing Smoothie stay unfazed and impassive even in the face of the most violent threats, but he didn’t look unfazed anymore. Nick watched his red rabbit eye twitch sharply back and forth in the socket, as if it were trying to escape. Finally Smoothie said, “Can you think of anything worse?”

“Can’t think of any that I’d prefer, not off the top of my head,” said Nick, sliding off the cold steel table and ignoring the crinkle of the plastic tarp behind him. When he came closer, he saw Smoothie lean back almost imperceptibly in the rolling chair, as if he wanted to do anything in his power to put another few centimeters of cold distance between himself and the hitman. Nick had never seen Smoothie back down before without being physically forced to, not even by a hair’s breadth. “Aw, look at that. Playing coy with me now? Looks like your nerves are getting to you, pretty little thing.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You think I’m being sarcastic?”

Smoothie only sneered in response. 

“I’m not being sarcastic,” said Nick as he approached. He leaned down to look the killer in the eyes, or at least tried to—it was impossible to focus on anything with that red rabbit eye darting uncomfortably to and fro, not to mention the way that Smoothie was staring at him like some sort of cold-blooded reptile. Nick tried to hold the gaze of the killer’s good eye when he said, “Look, Smoothie, you’re a messed up bastard. But you’re no worse than me. You can take that shit to the bank. Crying shame that you don’t think you’re pretty, if you ask me.”

“Flattery won’t put you back on top.”

“Nah, come on, I could grind you into dust with one hand tied behind my back. Sheer force would put me back on top if I wanted to be.”

“Mff.”

“I don’t, though, not right now. Later, for sure. But at the moment I’m more interested in making you feel pretty,” Nick growled. He reached out to touch the other man, watching Smoothie retreat as far back into the chair as he could before Nick’s hands found him and pulled him close. 

Nick kissed him roughly, just the way he knew the killer would like, and he found himself surprised by how long Smoothie took to warm up to it. When Smoothie finally leaned into it, he didn’t let it last for very long. He only tolerated the kiss for a few moments before breaking away abruptly. 

“Get down,” he demanded.

“What?”

“I said down. On all fours, please.”

“Smoothie.”

“— _Stop_ ,” the killer said, in a voice that Nick absolutely didn’t recognize. It was enough to shock him into obedience, just because it sounded so completely unlike Smoothie; it sounded like something had cut him to the quick. Nick had watched enough suspects break under questioning to recognize a struck nerve when he saw one.

He wanted to press the issue, but Smoothie was still dangerously close to a drawer full of knives and increasingly awful dildos, so now probably wasn’t the time. Nick tried to make his touches as soothing as possible when he dropped to his knees and let his hands slip away from the other man’s body. 

“Turn around,” said Smoothie coldly, swiveling back to the set of drawers to avoid Nick’s eyes. He busied himself with assembling the strap-on. 

Nick raised his eyebrows and then complied, grumbling a little about it along the way. It felt suicidal to turn his back on Smoothie now, knowing that he’d just brought up something touchy, but there was no denying how much he wanted this. He was already imagining it, like he’d done so many times in the past. He wanted it more than he was willing to admit; he wanted to feel Smoothie inside of him, wanted to let the killer finally have his way with him without being interrupted by any stray bullets. 

“Clothes off. All of them,” Smoothie commanded before turning the chair around again. Nick heard it creaking, heard him snapping the cap off of something that had to be—thank god, Nick thought—lube. The killer’s voice sounded like the crack of a whip. “Right now, Sax.”

“Jesus, okay, no need to jump back to the last name thing,” Nick muttered, fighting with his coat for a minute before shrugging it off and shaking it to the floor. He was still working on the buttons of his shirt when he felt Smoothie grab the back of his belt and yank it rudely, forcing him face-down and ass-up. The killer's hands undid his belt with quick, impatient motions. 

“I said _now_ ,” Smoothie snarled.

“Oh, well, forgive me for not being an Olympic gold medalist in stripping,” Nick shot back. He felt Smoothie’s hands on him again and tried not to respond to the touch as eagerly as he wanted to. He didn’t want Smoothie to notice how much his heart was pounding, or how much anxious sweat was pooling at the back of his neck. When the killer loosened his belt and tugged the back of his jeans down to expose him, Nick felt more aroused and afraid than he’d been in recent memory. 

“Mm. Already excited, I see,” said Smoothie, letting one finger trace the underside of Nick’s growing erection. “Stay still.”

“Anyone ever told you that your bedside manner is a little bit lacking?”

“Yes,” Smoothie admitted freely. “Now relax. This is going to hurt.”

“I mean, I don’t think it _has_ to—”

“Shh, shh. No need to discuss it.”

“Sounds like there might be a need to discuss it, actually,” Nick said, the back of his neck prickling when he heard the slick, distinct sound of lube on latex. “Smoothie, if you could just say something a tiny bit less creepy to put me at ease, that’d be really _holy fucking shit—_ ”

It was over before he even knew it was happening. Smoothie’s index finger was already inside him, and although it had hurt just the way the killer said it would, it also felt unexpectedly amazing. Nick didn’t hear the choked sound that came out of his own mouth until it turned into a long, wheezing groan. 

“There we go,” said Smoothie, in a voice that Nick actually found weirdly soothing. “Much easier than the first time. Well done. Relax.”

“Jesus Christ…” 

“He can’t help you now.”

Every motion was torturously slow, painstakingly precise. Smoothie’s free hand found one of Nick’s asscheeks with a loud smack, sending the noise of skin on latex echoing through the room. He sank his fingertips in and pulled Nick closer. 

Nick didn’t know what to do. He’d felt this sensation more than once in the time since Smoothie had first gotten a taste of him last Christmas, but something about the experience was different. Maybe it was a result of the piercing fear that shot through him each time Smoothie’s finger pulled back to the tip; Nick kept expecting a harsh jab, a cruel twist, or for the digit to be replaced with something that had a sharp edge. None of those things happened, though. Instead that one finger kept easing back into him with firm, careful strokes, over and over again until the pain wasn’t even a memory in the back of Nick’s mind. 

He gave up and let his whole body sink into it with a helpless, grumbling groan. The tile floor was cold against his face and wonderfully soothing. It felt almost as good as the slick sensation of Smoothie’s finger inside him. He felt like he was on fire, but in the best way. It was like injecting a shot of whiskey straight into his veins. Or, perhaps more accurately, his asshole. 

“You could get paid to do this,” Nick wheezed, his nails scraping for purchase against the tile when Smoothie took it up a notch and pushed into him deeper. He didn’t get to see the prideful smirk that his words brought to Smoothie’s face. 

Nick wasn’t exaggerating—compared to the half-assed job that the admittedly very patient and understanding hooker had performed on him several months back, this was blowing his mind. The fact that it was _Smoothie_ touching him like this only heightened the experience, in the same way that turning the safety off the revolver would heighten a game of Russian roulette. Nick had always loved flirting with death. Letting Smoothie take control of his body took that idea to the extreme. 

“Feels like you’re enjoying yourself,” the killer said, savoring the harsh, breathy sound that escaped Nick’s throat as he slipped another finger inside, as suddenly and directly as the first. 

“ _Nnnghffl_ ,” Nick confirmed, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he meant to say. 

“Hm. So many undiscovered nerve endings, right?” Smoothie asked. His grip tightened, and he pulled Nick back towards him to encourage further cooperation. He didn’t stop until he saw Nick’s lips press against the tile floor and felt the hitman push into his touch experimentally. “We’ll discover them in no time. Nerve endings are my specialty, you could say.”

“You could say,” Nick managed through his teeth. He bit back a string of curses when Smoothie’s fingers found something terribly sensitive somewhere deep inside him. Scoffing at pain was easy, but Nick had never been much in the face of pleasure. Smoothie was hardly the only person to ever overwhelm him with it. A string of dissatisfied women across New York could attest to Nick’s overexcitability and responsiveness. 

“What’s that, now?” Smoothie’s voice taunted from over his shoulder, just before his fingers found that nerve again hard enough to make Nick see spots. “Don’t be shy. Speak up.”

At first Nick only let out a vague grunt, but it only took a moment for the gentle curl of those fingers inside him to drive the words out. “—Ahh Jesus fucking god in heaven, alright, fuck me.”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me already,” Nick growled, hating the words even as they came out of his mouth, even as the thrill of being touched chased up his spine. “Just do it, just get it over with.”

“Ahh, there’s the begging. I love how quickly you resort to it. Almost as if you think it’ll matter,” Smoothie said. He made no secret of how much it amused him. “Go ahead and try again. Maybe you’ll wear me down. First time for everything!”

Nick tried to say “fuck off” and “fuck me” again at the same time, but all that came out was “ _fff_.”

He could hear Smoothie laughing softly; it was a self-satisfied little sound that reminded Nick too much of jingle bells. The killer’s free hand slid down the crease of Nick’s hip and found his erection, which Nick hadn’t dared to touch for fear of finishing prematurely right then and there. Smoothie must have considered that, because he barely even teased the shaft with his fingertips. Instead he gave the hitman’s balls an encouraging tug and a few delicate strokes, loving the way that the stimulation made Nick’s asshole tighten excitedly around his fingers.

Nick heard the chair squeak, and suddenly Smoothie’s hand released his balls to knot into the hair at the back of his skull, pulling his face up from where it met the tiles. Nick felt the press of Smoothie’s body along one side of his back when the killer leaned in to whisper into his ear, “Feels good, doesn’t it? Submitting to someone who earned it?”

Nick didn’t want to say yes, so instead he said nothing. There was no point trying to bluff. He took in a sharp breath and hissed out the word “ _Motherfucker—_ ” when Smoothie forced one last finger into him, taking him over the brink of pleasure and back into pain again for a few moments. 

He was surprised to feel the killer’s fingers release their grip on his scalp and move back down to trace along his shaft, as if to get his mind off of the pain. Smoothie’s lips were still touching the back of his ear, and that was becoming deliciously distracting, especially given the fact that every now and again Nick heard him let out an affectionate little sound. 

“You feel so ready for it now,” Smoothie breathed into him, softly enough to make the hair on Nick’s neck stand up. “Nice and relaxed. Nothing to be afraid of anymore. Ready to embrace your destiny?” 

Nick closed his eyes and submitted to it, dazed and lost in the kaleidoscope of sensations. 

“Ohh, you are. I know that look. You’ve given in.”

“ _Nnnff_ ,” Nick objected weakly.

“You’ll be all mine after this, won’t you, Nick?” Smoothie crooned into his ear. He sounded absolutely smitten at the thought, and only a hint of his trademark sadism crept into his voice. “I’ll have ruined you for other men. Women too, I imagine. No one else will hit the spot quite like I do.”

“You sound real fuckin’ confident,” Nick choked out. 

“I am, it’s true,” the killer sighed. He inclined his head to listen closely to the greedy, empty sound that Nick made when he slipped his fingers out of the hitman’s hole. Nick looked back over his shoulder in unmasked desperation. That only brought a nasty grin to Smoothie’s face while he set about undoing his pants. The killer admired Nick’s insatiable expression for a moment and chuckled before saying, “I’ve devoted a lot of thought to this moment. Even had the sweetest dreams about it. Maybe you have, too. You might as well enjoy it—I know I’m _certainly_ going to enjoy you. Your insides feel…well, nicer than anything, and I’ve felt so many insides.”

“Please stop saying shit like that,” Nick begged, giving up on sounding dignified about it, his mind still swimming from the sudden, complete emptiness he felt in his asshole. He wanted it filled more than anything. “Just for the next five minutes.”

“Five minutes? Oh, _Nick_.” 

He heard the rolling chair protest when Smoothie stood and kicked it back behind him, then heard the distinct jangle of the killer’s pants falling to the floor. The sound of leather shifting and twisting hit Nick’s ears and brought a tentative, eager grumble out of him, which he tried to muffle into his own shoulder unsuccessfully. He could hear snaps and buckles, and Smoothie’s smug, contained laughter.

“Unlike you, I can go for a lot longer than five minutes,” the killer informed him. “And I don’t plan on cutting it short just because you finish once or twice, tiger. You belong to me until I decide that I’m done with you. Do you understand, or do you need a more in depth explanation?”

“Think I got it,” Nick said breathlessly. 

“Now, normally I wouldn’t bother asking,” Smoothie admitted as he finished the final buckles of the strap-on and then looked down to admire the sight of it. “But you’ve cooperated, so I’ll throw you a bone. Go ahead and tell me how rough you want it. I can be accommodating, when it suits me.”

Nick licked his lips, trying to focus. He could hear Smoothie taking his sweet time lubing up the strap-on, and that was one of the most tantalizing sounds he’d ever encountered. His words came out stammering and uncertain when he said, “Uh, just—I dunno, just, ah, don’t—don’t hurt me.” 

“ _Don’t_ hurt you?” 

“Don’t fuck me up,” Nick repeated, his voice taking on a keen, anxious edge. “I get that you’re into the tortureporn shit, but don’t—I don’t know, don’t do something messed up to me. What you were doing before, that felt—I mean—Jesus, you could do that to me for a week and I wouldn’t complain, so maybe just. Maybe just like that.”

“Mmm. Slow, but with a firm hand.” 

“Christ. Yes.” Nick closed his eyes and tried to control the frantic way that he was breathing. 

He heard Smoothie’s gloves come off with a snap. 

The killer’s hands found his hips and gave him one stern tug to encourage him into position, which Nick found hotter than anything he’d ever felt in his life, up to and including Actual True Love. Smoothie’s hands were soft, made more for gentle touches than for the cruelty that he was so fond of dishing out. Nick didn’t even want to fight them. 

“Oh, one last thing,” said Smoothie, as if it were an afterthought. “No more ‘Jesus Christ’, no more ‘God help me’, etcetera. God can’t help you, Nick. For the rest of the evening, I’m the closest thing you’ve got—so just say _Smoothie_ , if you feel compelled to call out to the divine.” 

“Hhnnnfff. Smoothie,” Nick said immediately.

“Good. Now brace yourself, handsome.”

Nick didn’t actually have time to brace himself, because the head of that slick, silicone dick was already pressing into him before Smoothie finished the sentence. 

“Oh Jesus Chrrrrrr— _Smoothie_ ,” Nick offered up in a harsh, guttural voice, his mind blanking out when he felt himself being stretched open. 

It felt so much different than that first horrible experience. It didn’t feel like he was being ripped in half or shattered to the core. This time his body welcomed it, relaxed into it and accepted the invading object, and that felt absolutely incredible. 

Smoothie pushed into him slowly, taking his time to appreciate the snug grip of Nick’s steely body around the strap-on. He’d been too drunk on power to really savor it the first time, not to mention the rude interruption of taking a bullet to the eye. Sinking himself into the hitman’s asshole again felt like the greatest achievement of his life. Now Nick was well and truly broken, as far as Smoothie was concerned; broken enough to want Smoothie back inside of him, even after everything he’d done. 

“Destroyer of worlds,” Smoothie hissed through his teeth, completely to himself. It didn’t matter if Nick heard it. Nothing mattered except for this moment of well-earned victory, this final and lasting triumph over Nick Sax. 

To be honest, though, it was difficult to focus on the symbolic win—a sound came out of Nick that caught the killer’s attention and snapped him out of the daydream, one that he hadn’t really expected to hear. It sounded suspiciously like the word “ _Yes”_. Smoothie narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, forcing his strap into Nick down to the hilt and then smiling when he heard it again, louder and more distinct this time:

“Ahhh, fuck, _yes_ —”

That was more satisfying to hear than anything, just as satisfying as drawing out a scream of pain. Smoothie couldn’t help but laugh, especially when he saw Nick’s arms shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. 

“Oh, just look at you,” Smoothie sighed, sounding more enthralled than he meant to. “You look so good like this. Right where you belong. Right where we left off the first time.”

His hands moved appreciatively over Nick’s body while he let the hitman adjust to the sensation of penetration. He could see Nick’s breath heaving and the sweat dripping from his brow. He could even smell the salt of it on the air. It was more intoxicating than he’d expected, even enough to distract him from his own ego for a few moments. 

It was almost making him _feel_ something, seeing Nick push back onto him and growl deep in his throat, as if he couldn’t get enough. 

“Admiring the fuckin’ view?” Nick demanded over his shoulder, his voice hot and hasty, as if he were trying to hide how quickly he was coming undone. “Or do you plan to actually move?”

“Shhh. Feel it.” Smoothie’s fingers tangled into the unkempt hair at the back of the hitman’s neck and tugged his head back, forcing his body to arch into everything he was being given. “You should get used to this, Nick. Learn to love it.”

“Yeah, done that, didn’t take long,” Nick panted, any hint of shame long gone from his voice. He was totally out of his wheelhouse at this point, and all too willing to let Smoothie’s tight grip at the back of his skull guide his whole body back onto the girthy piece of silicone inside him. 

The stimulation was unmatched by anything in Nick’s recent memory. He understood abruptly why cocaine up the ass was such a popular pastime among the New York criminal elites; it had always confused him, but now it was clear that he just hadn’t been enlightened to the verisimilitude of the human asshole yet. When Smoothie pulled out of him to the tip it felt better than doing a line, and when he filled Nick up again it actually made Nick think for a split second about _stars_ and _destiny_ and whether there was something to it. He was starting to warm up to the idea, and it didn’t take long to notice that he wasn’t the only one getting warmed up. Smoothie was still taking his time, feeding Nick every inch of the silicone cock with each push into him, but his breath was already starting to shake with excitement.

“Between you and me, I think there’s going to be a lot of this in your future,” the killer said, transfixed by the sight of Nick’s body accepting him willingly, submitting to him at last. 

“—hhh, between you and me, I think you might be right,” said Nick. Now that the fear had dissipated, he was in heaven. Someplace like it, at least. He didn’t regret leaving the cosmic orgy for this, even though he was sure someone in the cosmic orgy probably had a strap-on lying around. Even if they did, he couldn’t imagine anyone but Smoothie making his body feel stretched to the brink like this. It didn’t feel the same with anyone else. Even with the hooker, Nick had closed his eyes to imagine Smoothie’s painfully bright smile and unkind hands, his fresh smell and skinny black ties. The real thing was a lot better than his imagination. 

All the prostate stimulation was making Nick’s dick drool pre-cum already. He could see stars every time his eyes closed. One of his hands moved to his erection, and when he touched it he let out a desperate, throaty string of curses. The relief of friction on his shaft felt indescribably good, especially in combination with Smoothie’s deep, generous strokes into him. 

“Good, good,” he heard the killer say, in a voice that was far too hungry. Smoothie’s nails dug into him as if he never intended to let go. “Keep touching yourself, Nick. I like seeing you give in to me.”

In truth, Smoothie didn’t just _like_ seeing Nick like this; he was completely obsessed. He’d put all manner of things in all manner of people, but nothing compared to having Nick on his knees. The fact that the hitman couldn't resist pleasuring himself was something that Smoothie found unexpectedly thrilling, and it filled him with no small amount of pride. 

He licked his lips and drove into Nick harder, testing the waters—when the hitman let out an encouraging growl of pleasure, Smoothie couldn’t contain his excitement. He let his hands rake across the broad expanse of Nick’s back and then up to his shoulders to pull him back into every punctuated thrust. Nick’s mouth was open and his teeth were bared in an absolutely animalistic expression, but the only sound that came out of him was an eager, rasping laugh. 

“You’re actually enjoying yourself,” Smoothie said, still sounding as if he didn’t quite believe it even with the evidence at his fingertips. 

Nick let out a gruff noise and looked over his shoulder long enough to catch the other man’s sharp red eye, pushing back as if to accentuate the fact that he wasn’t bluffing. His hand only left his dick to find one of Smoothie’s and bring it back down to his shaft insistently, and he bit back a savage sound when the killer started to stroke him in time with each thrust. There was nothing on Smoothie’s face now except sick fascination, or maybe something more than that; something unfamiliar. He was touching Nick now as if he actually cared about the other man’s pleasure, rather than just the sense of power that came with taking control of Nick’s cock. 

“Fuck me,” Nick managed, somewhere between a command and a cry for help, grumbling the words into his own arm before it gave out and sent him sinking to the tile floor. He was trapped between the rhythm of Smoothie’s hand and the silicone cock pumping in and out of him, and he couldn’t tell which of the two felt better at this point. They were both blending together dangerously, threatening to overpower him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take much more. 

“Smoothie,” he said, because the killer’s name was all he could think to say, hoping that the strain in his voice would get the point across. 

It must have done the job, because Smoothie picked up the pace and said in a quick, breathless voice, “Don't hold back. I want to hear you say my name, Nick. Nice and loud. Tell me whose strap-on you can’t get enough of, hm? Whose cock do you want?” 

“ _Fuck_ , Smoothie,” Nick gasped. Hearing the killer talk like that was almost more than he could stand. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of a knife, suspended in mindless sensation. 

His time on the edge ended abruptly when Smoothie tugged him back onto the silicone dildo with one hard jolt of his hips, leaned in, and commanded, “Now tell me who _owns_ you.”

“—ffffffuck _you_ , Smoothie,” Nick choked, his mind blanking out. “You. You, fuck you, I— _hhh_ —”

It felt like Nick was covered in kerosine and Smoothie had just lit a match. He felt it in his dick, but more than that he felt it inside when his body froze up and went taut. 

A strangled sound burst out of him, and he came even harder than he had the last time, which he hadn’t thought possible. Rope after rope of cum spilled out of him, and it felt as if Smoothie intended to wring every drop from his body until he was dry. The killer’s hands were eager and encouraging and he could hear Smoothie laughing delightedly over his shoulder—it almost didn’t sound evil this time. If Nick hadn’t known any better he would have mistaken it for a sound of genuine enjoyment. 

The combination of the silicone cock buried in his asshole and Smoothie’s fingers coaxing him through the pleasure ended up being too much for Nick to bear. He made a desperate sound and tried to clutch at Smoothie’s wrist while the last shocks chased through his body, and a moment later he could feel the killer lean in to lay one approving little kiss against his spine. 

“Good, good. Oh, _so_ good, Nick.”

Nick felt delirious. His body gave up completely. When he slumped to the floor he brought Smoothie with him unintentionally, forgetting that he had a firm grip on the little man’s wrist and that they were still attached at the back end. He felt the killer’s weight against him, and even though it was barely anything—Smoothie was probably a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, if that—he found it strangely comforting. Nick let his eyes roll shut and sank into the sweet sensation of Smoothie’s touches.

He didn’t expect Smoothie to pull out of him so soon, and he definitely didn’t expect to let out a hollow, disappointed grumble when it happened. He felt the killer’s hands slip away and heard a few snaps, followed by the sound of Smoothie setting the harness aside. Those hands were on him again immediately, as if Smoothie couldn’t stand to be separated from Nick’s skin for too long. Nick could feel him tracing the lines between muscles with keen, surgical precision. 

“So good,” Smoothie repeated in a voice that didn’t quite suit him, one that sounded almost pained. It was enough to make Nick crack an eye and grumble.

“Mmmrrrff. That’ll be fifty bucks, I accept cash or credit,” he deadpanned lazily. He managed to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of the killer, and the sight concerned him. “Smoothie? Doing alright back there? You look like you’re having heart palpitations.”

Smoothie _was_ having heart palpitations, or at least something close enough to warrant the same level of worry. He was still panting and he could feel his whole body thrumming with energy. Every instinct was lighting up inside of him like a circuit board fritzing out. He didn’t know when he leaned in whether he was going to kiss Nick’s skin or try to dig his teeth into it—both seemed equally acceptable, even equally logical. 

There was nowhere for the pent up energy to go. Smoothie normally channeled it into the end of a knife, creating some cheap facsimile of an orgasm by watching the light go out of someone’s eyes. He normally didn’t get this wound up, either, at least not without a little bit of bloodshed to level out his head first. 

“Smoothie,” said Nick, trying to get his attention and failing. The hitman turned and shrugged off the aftershocks of his enjoyment, then grabbed the front of Smoothie’s shirt and gave him a shake. “Snap out of it. You’re freaking me out.” 

“—I’m not done with you,” Smoothie said, trying to sound severe. He cleared his throat; his voice had come out hoarse and faint. He could feel his eye flickering in search of an escape route. 

“I know,” Nick rumbled. “You mentioned. C’mere.”

He didn’t wait for Smoothie to refuse. Instead he wrapped both arms around the killer and brought him down to the tile floor, just forcefully enough to drive an eager sound from between Smoothie’s lips. Nick pulled the other man into his arms and held him tight, listening to the hot, quick sound of Smoothie’s breath against him. 

“Heart’s hammering,” he noted, letting his chin come to rest atop the killer’s head. “Like a little jackrabbit. Probably thinking about cutting a new hole in me, I’ll bet that’s how most of your one-night stands end.”

Smoothie made an affirmative sound and closed his eyes. He could still smell the reeking smoke of the incinerator on the sweat of Nick’s chest. When he let his lips come to rest against Nick’s chest, he could taste hellfire and brimstone. 

“All revved up and no one to disembowel. I get it, I’ve been there,” Nick scoffed. “Must be difficult, not being able to rub one out.”

Nick heard a gentle grumble leave Smoothie’s lips, and then the killer shifted in his arms like a serpent trying to slither loose. 

“Never needed to,” Smoothie insisted weakly.

“Looks like you could use it.”

“You know, Nick, you’re right. I’ll go find my penis and have it reattached just for the sake of your argument, you’ve convinced me.”

“Always with the sarcasm when it comes to the penis thing. Didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject. I thought your lack of a dick was your pride, joy, and namesake.”

“All of the above,” Smoothie snapped, finally untangling himself from Nick’s arms. 

“You still wish you could cum, though. Probably think about it all the time,” Nick deduced. He watched the killer’s face, scanning for a sign that he’d struck a nerve. Smoothie looked like a rat in a trap. Nick raised one inquisitive eyebrow and then said, “Certain you can’t?”

“Certain.”

“I’m no doctor, but—”

“—Certain,” Smoothie repeated too hastily.

Nick narrowed his eyes. He was no doctor, true, but he was the NYPD’s finest former homicide detective, and he’d worked enough cases to tell when someone wasn’t giving him the complete truth. He gave Smoothie a long, hard look and then said, “Sure about that? Because your eyeball’s doing the thing.”

“Shit,” Smoothie said, one hand moving immediately to cover it. He scowled, but it didn’t look very intimidating with half of his face covered. “Nick, believe me, your interest in my anatomy is deeply charming. Truly makes me believe that chivalry isn’t dead. But I’ve been around the block, and you’re not the first person to think they can…pull the sword from the stone, let’s say. It just isn’t possible.”

“Your body’s telling a different story.”

“Oh, really, now.”

“You still get all revved up. Still have a lot of feeling down there, I can tell,” said Nick. He could see Smoothie trying to ease back away from him, and he grabbed the killer’s tie to pull him closer again. “There are things you like and don’t like, things that turn you on.”

“This conversation is doing the opposite. In fact, let’s get back to the main event before I lose my erection,” Smoothie deadpanned.

“Don’t distract me with comedy. I know the punchline is ‘now if only I could remember where I put it’,” Nick said. He readjusted his grip on Smoothie’s tie and yanked once, smiling when he heard the other man’s breath hiss in sharply between his teeth. “I’ve got ideas about where you can put it, and how. But indulge me for a few minutes. You know I can’t resist solving a mystery, Smoothie, especially one with a serial killer involved.”

Smoothie made a noise and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to escape Nick’s grasp again. He only simmered and said, “Make it quick.”

Nick gave the killer’s tie another lazy pull, then started to undo it. He let his lips brush over Smoothie’s collar and then the skin of his neck, enjoying the way that it made the other man’s body lean into him and his shoulders drop in relaxation. Nick made note of the responsiveness and said, “I’m gonna assume you’ve tried most everything. You like getting smacked around a little, but you feel closer when you’re the one in control, don’t you? It’s counterintuitive, but I get it. You’ve got issues.”

Smoothie didn’t say anything, but Nick could feel the killer’s hands on him again, feeling out his sides while Nick pulled his tie loose. It didn’t take long to coax Smoothie down to the floor again. He went willingly when Nick pushed him down and climbed on top of him, all the better to fight with his shirt. 

“You’re in control,” Nick growled into his ear, even though his weight and his hands were inescapable. He heard an eager sound come out of the other man, and that encouraged him even more. “I’ll let you be in control. That’s step one, I guess, of getting you there.”

“Yes,” the killer hissed under his breath. 

“Step two’s gotta be something physical. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say asshole, but I might be biased. Seems to be the thing you’ve got most intact, though, if I’m not mistaken.”

Nick finished dealing with the other man’s buttons and readjusted him sharply to get a grip on his ass, pulling him in at the hips. “Yeah, you seem to like that. And you’re chatty, that’s the other thing. What does it for you, is it hearing yourself talk or hearing someone else say whatever you force them to say?”

“Both,” Smoothie admitted shamelessly. 

“Huh. Real sparkling conversationalist. I can get behind it,” said Nick. He could see that Smoothie was enjoying all the attention, and although it was nice to watch him play along, Nick could tell that there was still something missing. Nothing conventional would get them anywhere, that much was obvious. Smoothie was only indulging his curiosity and waiting for him to get bored. 

Nick decided to go out on a limb. That had never failed him in the past. He let his teeth move over Smoothie’s lips threateningly, and then pulled him in close to growl into his ear, “Bet you’ve never done it in a puddle of blood before. Whole new level of watersports.”

“I have _not_ ,” said Smoothie, though he sounded very much ready to change that. 

“There you go, there’s your missing link, it’s the murder thing. Bet I could get you off if you had a knife buried in somebody, huh?” Nick demanded. Judging by the way Smoothie clutched at his body and squirmed underneath of him, the answer was at least a maybe. Nick went on, pressing in against the killer with a raunchy chuckle. “Then again, what really gets you going is the fact that I’m as bad as you, isn’t that right? Maybe it would get you off quicker if I were the one with a knife buried in somebody.”

“Yes,” Smoothie confirmed, his voice growing more and more frenzied as he pictured it. “Yes, yes, oh, _yes_ —”

“Not gonna lie, I’m starting to get curious. Could be fun. Waste a couple of bad guys, get that adrenaline rush, fuck your brains out while they turn cold,” Nick growled. “Now _that_ sounds like a happy Halloween, doesn’t it?”

“ _Mff_.”

“Never had a boyfriend with the same appetite for bloodshed before, have you? Maybe that’s why none of them could make you feel anything down there,” Nick said. The idea of it was getting him riled up. He peeled Smoothie’s shirt off and didn’t notice the grimace on the killer’s face until he’d already thrown the garment aside.

“Boyfriend,” Smoothie muttered, as if the word tasted foul on his lips.

“Not that I’m. I mean, shit.” Nick paused and then tried to backpedal. “Or, you know, I mean, uh—back to the mutual love of bloodshed?” 

“No, Nick. None of my previous _boyfriends_ have shared my appetite for murder,” said Smoothie, his tone cool and a little bit biting. “It’s good to know that I finally have a _boyfriend_ who’s on my level. You know I love being able to bond with my _boyfriend_ over a kill.”

“You say it like you’re being sarcastic, but we both know you’d love that.” 

“Thank you for your input, boyfriend.”

“You can stop saying ‘boyfriend’, I won't make that mistake again.”

“Mm. Maybe I don’t mind it,” said Smoothie, looking as though he were weighing the idea in his mind. “Just not a very familiar word, especially at this age.”

Nick looked skeptical. “Don’t mind it?” 

He couldn’t quite keep the hopeful note out of his voice when he said that, and it was clear that Smoothie noticed. The killer looked at him with all the romantic passion of a sunbathing lizard before saying, “It’ll do. I’m willing to humor you, due to the mutual love of bloodshed.”

Nick didn’t want to examine the fact that he found that charming. He let his hands move over Smoothie’s body and tried to appreciate it, hoping his touches would show his approval even if he didn’t want to voice it. He liked that Smoothie reciprocated. 

Now that Nick had a taste for it, it was difficult to keep from kissing the killer. He found himself leaning in for it without even noticing. Smoothie was all too happy to take advantage. 

He kissed Nick until it tasted like he’d licked the inside of an incinerator. He only broke away to say, “Alright.”

“Hmm?” 

“Perhaps you’ll get somewhere with it if you’re patient,” Smoothie said, still sounding skeptical. “If the stars align. Might never amount to anything, but—well. If anyone could squeeze blood from a stone, I imagine it would be you.”

“Starting to sound like you like me,” Nick growled against his lips. “Making me feel all one of a kind and shit.”

“You’re very talented when it comes to violence.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“It’s a quality that I find hard to resist,” Smoothie said. He smiled, and that actually _did_ make Nick feel special, because it didn’t look entirely malicious. 

It hadn’t been long, but the motions already felt familiar. Nick was used to the scrape of Smoothie’s teeth against his skin. Hell, he almost found it comforting by now. He’d gone so long without being touched affectionately that he’d almost forgotten how easy it was to let it wash over him, no matter who was on the other end of it. When he pushed Smoothie down to trail hungry kisses across his neck, he loved the fact that the other man encouraged him instead of pushing him away. It had been a long time since anyone had genuinely enjoyed Nick’s attention—even his tryst with Amanda on New Year’s Eve had felt obligatory, especially when she looked at him the next day with a hint of regret brimming behind her eyes. That had hurt him enough to make him give up on the idea of affection altogether. 

Smoothie didn't just accept the affection, he reveled in it. It was as if every touch from Nick was a personal victory to him, a notch in his belt. Nick could tell that his enjoyment went deeper than just the sadistic thrill of “winning” their rivalry. Even if Smoothie insisted otherwise, it was obvious that he felt _something_. Nick could tell whenever he avoided the killer’s distracting red eye and looked into the real one. Every now and again he could almost catch a gleam of vulnerability there, right before Smoothie’s gaze went cold again. 

Nick had been planting hard, greedy kisses against the killer’s skin for several minutes now, and by the time he realized he didn’t want to stop, Smoothie was already pushing him away. 

“I’m not finished with you,” he said, both eyes gleaming, though one a bit more sinisterly than the other. 

“Easy, buddy. I’m not twenty-five anymore, I’m gonna need a longer intermission than that if you expect me to get it up again.”

“I don’t care whether you do or not,” said Smoothie in a mechanical voice. His grip on Nick’s body tightened cruelly. “Just want to hear you beg again. Doesn’t matter whether you get anything out of it.”

“Wow, real sweet of you. Glad you don’t give a shit about whether or not I enjoy myself.”

“You will,” Smoothie assured him. “You’ll thank me for it even if you don’t finish. I’ll give you something you want, this time, to make up for it.”

“What’s that?”

“Hmm.”

Smoothie’s fingers pushed through the scruff on Nick’s jaw and then pulled him in nose-to-nose. He could feel Nick straining to kiss him, but he kept the hitman’s body at bay. A few firm touches were enough to encourage Nick to roll over, and Smoothie was quick to climb on top of him. He nuzzled against the hitman’s nose again with a smirk. When he spoke, his voice was low and secretive enough to make the hair prickle at the back of Nick’s neck. “You’ll have to promise to keep it to yourself. I can’t have it getting around, it would wreck my reputation.” 

“Cross my heart and hope to—well. Something.”

Smoothie smiled and turned Nick’s head to one side with one set of cruel, demanding fingers to murmur into his ear, “I might have lied to you earlier.”

“About?”

“Hm. Not being able to give you what you really want. Never being able to _love_ you, Nick.”

His fingers were digging into Nick’s jaw now, and the hitman was getting nervous. The way that Nick’s eyes flashed anxiously to the other side of the room to avoid looking at him made it obvious. Smoothie continued, “So much easier to lie. I don’t think that love looks the same to me as it does to you, after all.”

“Mrrrghhhh,” said Nick, awkwardly. He swallowed something in his throat that may very well have been his entire heart. “What’s it look like?” 

“I want to be in you. _In_ you,” Smoothie snarled into his ear, in a voice sharper than broken glass. “Want to open you from the belly up and find out if you’re just as handsome inside as you are on the outside. Touch every inch of you right down to the bones. I want to bury my hands in you all the way up to the elbows and _feel_ you like no one else ever could.”

“Oh. Christ,” said Nick. “Little bit different.”

“I won’t do those things. Not today. But you make me fantasize about them,” Smoothie told him. Nick felt the killer’s lips against the curve of his ear, and they felt just as tempting as they had before, even in spite of the horrible words dripping from them. Smoothie sounded surprisingly sincere when he said, “That’s all it is right now. A fantasy. But someday, maybe years from now, if you’re lucky, you could fall asleep in my arms and then never wake up. That’ll be the proof that you want. Proof that I couldn’t resist it any longer. That I just _had_ to have you.” 

Nick didn’t know why the words coming out of the other man’s mouth were turning him on. There weren’t enough red flags in the world to cover everything problematic Smoothie had just said, but Nick didn’t care. All he could hear was the admission of guilt he’d been looking for; the confirmation that Smoothie felt something, even if it was something dark and ugly and brutal. 

Smoothie’s grip was surprisingly tight, and when he turned Nick’s face back to meet his gaze, he was smiling even more viciously than Nick had anticipated. His lips were just as soft as before, though, and just as difficult to resist. Nick didn’t bother fighting it, even if it felt like the kiss of death. 

There was something different about it from the start. It was different enough to make Nick wonder whether or not he should put a stop to it, even though he was enjoying it more than any of the previous kisses. Smoothie didn’t feel cold or aloof to him anymore. The predatory hunger had seeped out of his body and the only thing left underneath of it was something that felt suspiciously like actual affection. Nick tried to drink it in, hoping he’d be able to remember it later when the sincerity inevitably faded. 

“Almost feels like kissing a normal person,” he grumbled into Smoothie’s mouth. “You’re losing your edge, baby.” 

Smoothie only smiled, pecked him on the lips again, and then pushed himself up and off of Nick’s body. By the time Nick opened his mouth to complain about the sudden absence, Smoothie had already snatched up the bottle of lube from the drawer and the strap-on harness. He examined both of them and then Nick, scanning the hitman’s body with a critical eye.

“Still can’t get it up?” he noted. “Thankfully, only one of us has that problem. You’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk it off,” Nick snorted. 

Anyone else would have been afraid of the look that Smoothie was giving him. The corner of his mouth twitched into a dangerous smile, one that Nick especially liked. 

“Think it’s time to do it like we don’t hate each other?” Nick asked, a little bit hopefully. 

All Smoothie said before he pounced was “No.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long and I apologize in advance but I also don’t care because this is a self-indulgent work of Trash

Nick had woken up worse. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, or going unconscious, or whichever had happened last night. All he remembered was chaos. 

He could remember flashes of sensation more than anything; recollections of Smoothie’s hands traversing every inch of his skin, or memories of the aching, unmatched experience of being penetrated once, twice, thrice—was it four times? Nick couldn’t remember. It could have been more. It all blended together blissfully. 

His body was sore in the best way. It felt like he was coming down from the peak of an acid trip, his mind still addled and his limbs sluggish in the aftermath of all the pleasure. 

He had fallen asleep on what appeared to be a camping cot in a side room. When he finally opened his eyes he could see the stark white tile outside through the open door, and he was surprised to find that he could see Smoothie there too, busying himself with something that Nick couldn’t quite see. His back was turned, and he had a navy blue sport coat on, not the one he’d been wearing yesterday. Smoothie probably kept a lot of spare clothes stashed in places like this in case of spills or splatters. Hazards of the job. 

When Nick sat up, everything ached. He could feel strains in muscles that he never even knew existed until now. He could feel something tingling on his neck and shoulders, and closer inspection revealed that he’d been given several nasty bite marks. If he closed his eyes, he could still only remember half of them. The rest were overshadowed by everything else Smoothie had done to his body last night. 

He grumbled and felt around for his clothes, which had been helpfully placed underneath the foot of the cot. Even for Nick, the garments were getting a bit unreasonable; the smell of sweat seeped off of them, and by now there had to be enough traces of cum clinging to the fabric to make him a walking biohazard. He tugged them on anyway and then shook the stiffness and pain out of his body. He grabbed his coat and left the room, casting a wary eye before he left at a stack of empty lab rat cages which lined one of the walls. 

“Thought you’d be more of a night owl,” he said by way of greeting, making his way into the wide, cold tile room. “What with all the BDSM shit and the criminal background.”

Smoothie glanced over his shoulder for half a moment and didn’t say anything. Nick could see now that he was sharpening a set of knives. 

“Doesn’t look like I get an omelette this time,” he said, disappointed. “Why’s there a cot?”

“For cat naps,” said Smoothie. 

“Between eviscerations?”

“I keep a tight schedule.”

Nick flopped into the rolling chair, which looked more comfortable than any of the metal furniture, and made a vague noise of agreement. He liked the fit of Smoothie’s new coat, and the way that it showed off how slight and slender he was. 

“You keep a tight something, that’s for sure,” he said appreciatively, letting his eyes linger on the other man’s backside for a long moment before glancing back up. “So, what’s the plan? Orcus? Stake out his hideout?”

“Too many armed guards, too much surveillance. We’d be better off finding another source. If you can get the jump on one of his men, I can extract the information we need. Should take less than twenty-four hours,” said Smoothie, all business. “Not going to be easy, though. They’re a tight-knit group.”

“Mrfff. Tight something,” Nick repeated with another long, tempted look at Smoothie’s rear end. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment and listened to the silvery sound of blades against the whetstone, then said, “You look fancy.”

“Hm.”

“Nice, I mean. You look nice.”

“I’m sure,” Smoothie said without a hint of irony. He gave Nick another glance over his shoulder, then inspected the knife he’d been working on. “You, however, look like roadkill. Do you own another shirt?” 

“Meh. Theoretically,” said Nick. “Not clear on where I left it. Been distracted.”

“I can see that. My eyes are up here,” said Smoothie meaningfully. 

“In my defense, one of them is completely intolerable to look at,” Nick told him. He saw the red rabbit eye roll eerily as if in response. 

Smoothie tested the edge of the knife with the tip of one finger, his face impassive and his other eye unblinking. Nick couldn’t help but think about what that finger had felt like inside of him last night; the noises it had driven out of him, the mind-blowing effect it had on his dick. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden, and his mind was starting to wander. He could already think of a hundred other things for Smoothie’s skillful fingers to help him out with. 

Smoothie pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of the navy blazer, fished through it for a credit card, and tossed it in Nick’s direction. “Go find something wearable. Nothing Gucci, please.”

“Not a fan of Gucci?”

“My wallet isn’t,” said Smoothie. “Besides, I’ve always been more of a Versace.”

“I’ll pretend I know what that means.”

Nick started to slip the credit card into his pocket without so much as a glance, but curiosity got the better of him. He ran his thumbs over the edges of it and then looked down to see the name. He was disappointed to find it was a fake one. 

“John Doe,” he snorted. 

“I make a lot of _suspicious_ purchases. Easier to do that under a series of aliases.” 

“Like ‘Smoothie’?”

“No,” said the killer, in a stern voice that made Nick roll the chair back away from him a bit. “No, actually. Smoothie is my name, Nick.”

“Not your real one.”

“It’s my _name_ , Nick.” 

“No, it’s your _nick_ name.”

“—enough of the wordplay,” Smoothie snapped, a little bit more defensively than Nick had anticipated. “It’s my name, as far as you’re concerned.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to know the real one.”

Smoothie’s sigh was long and harrowed. He looked down at the knife in his hands and then over at Nick, scanning him as if he were trying to decide where to dig the blade in first. His eyes came to rest on the one patch of softness at the bottom of Nick’s belly, right underneath the navel, which he’d enjoyed touching and tasting so much last night. It would be the perfect entry point for a knife, and a place that he could really work from, torture-wise. After fantasizing about it for a moment he turned his back and said, “Leave. And go do what I asked. This conversation is over.”

“I’m starting to like it when you boss me around,” Nick grumbled. He watched Smoothie’s red eye twitch in irritation, then said, “You’re weirdly hot when you get mad, even with the eyeball thing.”

“Meet me in two hours, there’s a cafe on the corner of the block. I’d like to be alone for a while,” Smoothie said, his voice clipped. “I need some Smoothie time.”

“Do I want to know what that involves?”

Smoothie tested the edge of the knife again and then said, “No.”

“I don’t think I can leave you alone knowing that you’re about to shank someone off the street.”

“Then we’re better off parting ways permanently.”

Nick was surprised by how casually and immediately Smoothie had thrown that suggestion out. It was more than a little bit hurtful, especially in the wake of last night. He frowned at the killer and said, “What’s with you this morning? Got a bug up your ass?”

Smoothie set the knife down with a loud, deliberate clatter and fixed Nick with a hideous glare. His voice brokered no room for argument. “I’ve spent my life alone, Nick. I’m not interested in your company twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, no matter how much I enjoy it. I like having time to myself. It keeps me sane.”

“Not sure about that part,” Nick said. 

“Leave.”

“Wait an hour, lemme find you some asshole who deserves it,” Nick suggested, surprised that he’d even put the idea forward. Even suggesting it technically made him an accomplice to murder in the eyes of the law—then again, in the eyes of the law, Nick was already a murderer more than ten times over. “Then you can have your fun and I don’t have to feel weird about it after.”

“So good at justifying your own bad behavior, but so keen to condemn mine. It’s fascinating,” said Smoothie. “And you talk as if you think my behavior will change. Don’t you know not to go into a relationship expecting the other person to change for you?”

“Relationship is a strong word,” Nick managed, already sweating at the use of it. 

“ _Boyfriend_ is a strong word. That didn’t stop you last night,” said Smoothie. 

“Meh. Fair point.”

“Now go away, Nick. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I could do with a little bit of your absence,” Smoothie told him. The cold, hurt look on Nick’s face must have been enough to reach the one grain of pity in the killer’s heart, because after Smoothie saw it he said, “I’ll be in a better mood afterwards. Don’t take it personally, tiger.”

Nick didn’t want to press his luck. He grumbled a little and slid Smoothie’s credit card into his pocket, then pushed himself up out of the rolling chair and shrugged his coat on. Smoothie was already intently focused on his knives again, and hardly noticed when the hitman’s heavy hands found his shoulders. Nick’s fingers slid across the sharp lines of the blazer longingly. 

“Right. Two hours,” he said against the back of Smoothie’s neck, enjoying the chill of pleasure that it sent down the other man’s spine.

“Mm. Don’t be late,” the killer said as patiently as he could. “I like to keep a—”

“—Tight schedule,” Nick finished, smacking him playfully on the ass with one hand and then stealing away. Smoothie raised the next knife in his set with a murderous gleam in his good eye, but he didn’t move to retaliate. He only blew Nick a sarcastic kiss and turned his attention back to sharpening. 

It was cold enough to snow outside, and judging by the overcast sky, precipitation was inevitable. Nick grumbled and threw one end of his scarf over his shoulder before heading off into the city. He was somewhere south of midtown, but not terribly far. Ten blocks, maybe. Nick could see the cafe Smoothie had mentioned on the southmost corner of the block, a sunny little affair with patio seating and charming yellow umbrellas. There was a liquor store across the street, and Nick made his way to it without a second thought. He bought a bottle of nasty third-rate bourbon out of habit and chugged half of it on the sidewalk outside before slipping it into the pocket of his coat and lumbering off down the sidewalk. 

The chilly autumn air felt better now that there was alcohol warming his blood. Nick wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings anymore, apart from halfheartedly scanning the streets for a clothing store. There were a few fancy-looking ones half a block down, but Nick was too much of a miser for those, even with someone else’s credit card taking the hit. He had to walk three blocks before he found a department store that he considered shitty enough for his tastes. 

He had a minor heart attack and a major identity crisis in the men’s section while he was pawing through racks of shirts. Nick hadn’t given a rat’s ass about his appearance in ages, but he didn’t want to hear Smoothie say something snide to him again about what he looked like. He could already picture the killer’s nose wrinkling in distaste at the sight of whatever he picked out. 

“Hey, kid,” he growled to a store associate near the fitting room with a name tag that read _Janice_. “You look relatively gay, no offense—who isn’t these days? Help a guy out, I’m lost here.”

Janice looked at him like he’d just kicked a dog, but rolled her eyes and gestured for him to go on. 

“I’ve got a…hhhh. Right. Got a boyfriend, super normal, real familiar with that, gay marriage, big win, hurrah,” Nick said, rattling off literally anything that came to mind. The bourbon was starting to sink in. “He’s real, uh. Real finnicky.” 

“Got it,” said Janice, with no interest. 

“Always looks sharp,” said Nick. He was thinking more of the knives than anything, but it got the point across. “Help me look not like shit.”

“Do you look like shit all the time?” asked Janice. 

“What’s it to you?”

“Maybe he’s into the grunge vibe.”

“Maybe he’s into the—?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing these days. Got a kind of rough and tumble look about you, I’d lean into that, very John Wayne,” Janice told him.

Nick clapped one drunken hand onto the woman’s shoulder and looked at her for an uncomfortable minute, his eyes narrowing. 

“You’re a goddamn genius, gonna go real far in life,” he said. “Knew you had that relatively gay look.”

“Takes one to know one,” Janice said, shaking him off. Nick grumbled under his breath for a minute about _labels_ and _exceptions_ and then gave up. 

He left the shop in a less threadbare pair of jeans than he’d had on before, a cozy autumnal sweater, and a new scarf covered in Jack-o-lanterns. They’d given him a shopping bag for the pack of boxers, stick of deodorant, and pack of breath mints he grabbed on the way out. He washed a few of the breath mints down with bourbon outside and hoped that Janice had good taste in sweaters. 

There was still an hour to kill, although that was an unfortunate way of putting it, given what Smoothie was probably up to right now. Nick made his way lazily back to the cafe and ordered a cup of coffee, which he poured the rest of his bourbon into. It was easy to tolerate the cold with a hot drink and a solid buzz going. 

Nick had grown accustomed to talking to himself when he was alone. Maybe it was his subconscious way of trying to handle the fact that Happy was gone, or maybe he was finally just going off his rocker after a lifetime of teetering on the edge of sanity. 

“Guns,” he said to himself, staring into his spiked coffee, breathing in the heat. “Need guns and ammo. Can’t go through any of the usual dealers, at least not the ones who worked for Blue.”

Then again, Nick realized, Smoothie probably had access to more than one arms dealer of his own. They were in the same business, after all, even if they favored different tools of the trade. It would be worth bringing up. 

“Oughtta find someplace to stay that isn’t a torture chamber,” he grumbled. “Human bed, no thumbscrews.”

He was still mumbling to himself nearly an hour later, though by then he was slumped forward onto the metal table with his head in his arms and his scarf double-wrapped, half asleep. His coffee cup was long empty, and he was twenty percent sure that he’d just chugged an entire bottle of bourbon on an empty stomach—then again, his head was a bit too fuzzy to calculate any accurate percentages right now. 

He had one eye open, fixed lazily on the vacant Italian restaurant building down the way. When he saw the door open, he sat up immediately like a watchdog on high alert. 

Smoothie had a bit of a spring in his step when he exited the building. Nick could tell even from a hundred yards away. Amanda and Merry had always had something of a vibrant glow about them, but whatever quality Smoothie had now was the opposite; it was a quiet, hungry energy, as if he were a black hole ready to consume everything in its path. 

His smile when he approached was darker than normal, and Nick was glad to find that he tipped his rosy sunglasses down to cast an approving gaze over the new scarf and sweater. 

“ _Mmm_. Very nice,” he said, indicating that Janice did indeed have good taste in sweaters. 

“You look pleased with yourself,” Nick noted, referring to the uncanny satisfaction brimming behind the red lenses of Smoothie’s glasses. The killer slid into the seat across from him and smiled more genuinely than he had a right to. 

“And for once in your life, you no longer look like you just crawled out of the gutter,” Smoothie said, his voice more good-natured and less rude than Nick had been anticipating, as if he were trying to joke around. There was something terrifying about that, and it made Nick uncomfortable. 

“Not a drop of blood on you,” he said. 

“Why would there be?”

“Probably got a little nasty in there.”

“Aprons, Nick. Hand washing, hygiene? Are these all new concepts to you?”

Nick leaned in and sniffed the air, trying to smell blood or bleach. He couldn’t catch a whiff of either, just the faint scent of latex. Something about it was tempting. He fixed his bleary eyes on the red lenses of Smoothie’s glasses and then growled, “Can’t have disposed of a body in under two hours. Catch and kill, maybe, but there’s no way you’re that fast.”

Smoothie cocked his head to one side. “No?”

“Even I couldn’t do that, short of just chucking the poor piece of shit in the Hudson River with a set of cement shoes. Not that I’ve done that,” Nick said, hastily. When Smoothie raised his eyebrows, Nick grumbled, “Alright, not that I’ve done it more than twice. Three times, tops.” 

“Lazy,” said Smoothie. 

“We can't all be overachievers.”

“I didn’t dispose of any bodies, since you’re asking, no.”

“Still got one in there? Got it in a bucket of lye?”

“No corpse to dispose of.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. Even through the blurry haze of alcohol clouding his brain, he could put two and two together. “Didn’t kill anyone, just found yourself a human chew toy? How fuckin’ quaint.”

“Very.”

“You know I can’t let that slide, Smoothie.”

“Hm,” said the killer with a little shrug. “What’s your brilliant plan, then? Put all of my playthings out of their misery? Better yet—release them all back into the general population, mangled though they may be?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Fantastic idea, Nick. Really, truly brilliant. Let’s go ahead and do that. After all, it’s not as though any of them have seen my face,” Smoothie said, both eyes hardening. The red one looked especially stern. “And even if they had, I don’t look very _distinct_ , now do I? Thank goodness for that.”

“Again with the sarcasm. So defensive.”

“I’m not—” Smoothie started, before clapping his mouth shut and simmering quietly in his seat. Nick could tell from the blank, focused look on his face that Smoothie was imagining doing something awful to him. He hoped it was something sexual, but it was more likely something violent. Maybe even both. 

“Look, I get it, we’ve all got our vices,” Nick said, which he thought was _more_ than reasonable, given the nature of Smoothie’s vices. “Once in a blue moon? Sure, I can get behind it. Hell, even I can’t go three months without knocking a few teeth out of some poor bastard. But life can’t be all golden showers and feeding people to rats, can it?”

Smoothie looked impassive and said, “Yes.”

Nick let out a gruff sigh and matched his stare, wondering if Smoothie would yield if he held out longer. Judging by the other man’s aloof expression and unbreakable gaze, the answer was no. Finally Nick said, “Alright, how about this—whatever grim shit you’ve got going on in there, I’ll let it slide. For now. But in the future let’s agree to save it for Orcus, yeah?”

He didn’t like the way that Smoothie leaned back in his chair, or the way that the killer crossed his arms over his chest with an aggressive little tilt of his head. “Is this the hill you want to die on? I was hoping you’d die on a more interesting one.” 

“I was a cop for half my life, Smoothie, even I’ve got limits.”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem.” 

“Looks like it’s becoming your problem, isn’t it?” 

“Hm. Only at your insistence,” Smoothie said with a shrug. “You’re the one getting squeamish. I didn’t realize you were such a killjoy, it’s a disappointment.” 

“The hell did you expect, a partner in crime?” 

Nick could tell that it struck a nerve when he said that. Smoothie’s poker face was almost seamless, but Nick saw his good eye turn cold and cruel. 

“Not necessarily,” Smoothie said. “Maybe just a partner.” 

“Well, sorry to disappoint you. But disappointing peple is sort of my whole fuckin’ thing, so you oughtta get used to it, huh?” Nick snapped. 

“Suppose I ought to.” 

“Great. We’ll both just get used to it,” Nick went on, emboldened by the bourbon. “You can go ahead and get used to being disappointed, and I’ll get used to letting you literally get away with murder. Sounds like a real solid foundation, Smoothie. Real stable, match made in heaven. Sure sounds like a healthy _partnership_ , doesn’t it?” 

He was looking for another tell, but Smoothie didn’t give him one. The killer only offered up a hollow smile and said, “Certainly sounds that way.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“You don’t want a _normal_ relationship, Nick, especially not with me. You know better than that,” Smoothie said point-blank, his tone hitting Nick as hard as any bullet ever had. “People like you and me aren’t built for real relationships. It would never work. But a partner—more of a silent partner—might be a possibility.” 

“Silent partner.”

“Exactly.”

“And by that you mean ‘someone who doesn’t question you’, is that right? Some big idiot you can boss around all day, who’ll sit down and shut up whenever you want him to.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“You picked the wrong motherfucker, then. I’m anything but silent,” Nick growled. “Never have been, never will be. Not for my ma, not for the NYPD, not for Amanda, and definitely not for you, Ted fuckin’ Bundy. If I have an opinion, you can bet your sweet little ass you’re gonna hear it.”

“Hm. I don’t mind the opinions,” said Smoothie, cocking his head. “Unless they come with ultimatums about my hobbies.”

“Well, something's gotta give, then,” Nick declared. He made sure that it sounded non-negotiable. 

Smoothie stared at him, as still and unreachable as always. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look like he was fantasizing about cutting Nick to ribbons, either. That was an improvement. 

Finally the killer said, “You’re hungry.”

“I’m what?”

“Had a shot of whiskey for breakfast, and now you’re in a mood,” said Smoothie, distastefully and definitively. “I can smell it from here.”

“A shot of whiskey, yeah. Sure.”

“Or more,” Smoothie corrected himself. “No wonder you’re grumpy.”

“I’m not—”

“—Let’s get you something to eat, maybe a glass of water,” the killer said reasonably. “You’ll feel better. Might even find yourself less inclined to criticize my passions.” 

“It’s gonna take a lot of goddamn omelettes to make me alright with you _torturing_ people off the street.”

“Then we ought to get started, hm?” 

Smoothie started to stand, but one of Nick’s hands shot across the table and grabbed him by the wrist to keep him in place. He gave the killer a sharp tug and leaned over the table aggressively, trying to use his height to his advantage. Smoothie didn’t look intimidated. 

“I don’t want a fuckin’ omelette,” Nick told him. “I want to watch you release your shiny new lab rat, like I asked, and then I want to ream you with your own ridiculous dildo collection until you learn a little something about compromise. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds like an absolute delight,” said Smoothie wistfully. “But I’m afraid I won’t be releasing my lab rat. You’re beating a dead horse.”

“Don’t talk about horses being dead,” Nick snapped. Smoothie gave him a quizzical frown, and Nick tried to shake off the bourbon enough to explain. “I—look, I’ve got a thing about horses, leave horses out of this. I don’t want to even think about horses.”

“You’re completely wasted, aren’t you?”

“No. No, it’s just—look, horses…”

“Completely falling-down drunk. It figures,” said Smoothie, trying to free his wrist from Nick’s grip and failing. He tried to pry the hitman’s fingers away, but Nick’s grip was like a bear trap. He kept fighting with it and continued, “Horrible mood, muttering all sorts of nonsense, getting sentimental about bloodshed. You’re plastered. That’s what I get for leaving you alone for more than five minutes. Horses, Nick?”

“They’re important,” Nick slurred. 

“Are they?”

“Used to have one.”

“In New York City? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“A blue one,” Nick insisted. He could feel Smoothie’s nails scraping at his knuckles now, trying to peel him away, and he tightened his grip. “Best fuckin’ horse you’ve never seen.”

“You’re absolutely wasted,” Smoothie breathed. 

“Didn’t start out as my horse. Used to be my kid’s horse. She had him for years,” Nick explained. 

He saw recognition light up in Smoothie’s face, and then the killer’s nails stopped digging at his hand. Smoothie’s eyes narrowed a little. 

“Are you—?” he asked, skeptically, pausing for a moment as if he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to his question. “Are you talking about her imaginary friend?” 

Nick’s other hand was on him in an instant. The hitman seized him by the collar and tugged him across the table until their noses were almost touching. It was enough to make Smoothie’s face screw itself into a grimace. The stench of alcohol was inescapable now, and it certainly wasn’t the smell of a _shot_ of whiskey. 

Nick’s eyes were wild and dangerous. His voice was nothing more than a drunken rasp. “What do you know about the fuckin’ horse?”

“Gentle,” Smoothie cautioned him, gesturing vaguely with his head towards the cafe. A barista was already eyeing them from inside to see if she needed to intervene. “Gentle, Nick. We can talk about the horse, if you insist. But you’ll need to let go of me now.” 

“I’ll let go of you whenever the hell I want,” Nick growled, in a low and deadly voice that made Smoothie’s spine tingle with excitement. “Now tell me what you know about the fucking horse.”

Smoothie’s eyes flickered toward the barista again, and he moved in to peck Nick on the lips, hoping that it would pacify the onlooker and potentially the hitman. It didn’t work for either of them. The barista only looked more concerned. 

“Nick,” the killer said gently. “I love it when you get rough with me, but you’re drawing attention to us. I’ll tell you whatever you like, but you _will_ let go of me. Immediately.”

“Trying to boss me around again?”

“I’m only—”

“Say please.”

“What?”

“Say it,” Nick snarled. “If you’re not bossing me around, then say please.” 

Smoothie looked like he was plotting out the exact steps of Nick’s murder. He glanced over at the barista one last time, and then collected himself. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Nick repeated. 

“You will let go of me immediately,” Smoothie ordered through his teeth. “Please.”

“Rephrase that. Still sounds bossy.”

“No.”

“Think I won’t cause a scene?” Nick demanded. He gave Smoothie a rough shake. “You keep looking through the window like you think that girl’s gonna call the cops. Think she will? I think she will, once I get started. Better say please, or you’re gonna have a hard time explaining some of your more colorful kinks to the NYPD. We’re awful close to your little love nest. Sure would be a shame if someone happened upon it.”

“ _Please_ let go of me, Nick,” Smoothie said at last, spitting the words out as if he detested every single one. The hitman across from him grinned sadistically. At first Nick’s grip only tightened while he savored the sound of Smoothie saying “please”, but then he eased up. He released the killer’s wrist and then readjusted Smoothie’s collar with a few affectionate touches. 

“You’re cute when you’re desperate,” he said snidely. “Now tell me what you know about the goddamn horse.”

Smoothie didn’t look like he appreciated the compliment, and it only took him a moment to smack Nick’s hands away from his collar. He smoothed it down again, readjusted his jacket, and then said, “Thought it was a unicorn.”

“See, that’s what I always said,” Nick grumbled. 

“Blue unicorn, wings, something like that. What was it called? Smoothie, Sparky, Flappy?”

“Happy,” Nick growled. 

“Happy,” Smoothie confirmed with a snap of his fingers. “Right, Happy the horse.”

“She told you about Happy?”

“Hailey and I were friends,” Smoothie said, in a curious voice—it didn’t _quite_ sound like he was lying, and Nick hated that. “Homies, if you will. I think that’s what the kids call it these days.”

“Right. What’s a little kidnapping between homies?”

“Kidnapping, kidnapping. Always fixating on the kidnapping. It’s like you can’t let it go.”

“Kind of a rough one to get over. To be fair, it did lead to my literal death and the traumatization of my only child. No biggie,” Nick said under his breath. Saying the words out loud reminded him of everything that had happened over Easter, and that made him sink back into his chair and hate himself. Smoothie noticed, but made no move to comfort him. The killer only shrugged. 

“She told me about the unicorn,” he said, perfectly dispassionate. “Made up an adorable story about how it brought the two of you together. It’s amazing, the things that children will tell themselves to avoid facing reality.”

“Did she, uh. Did she say anything else?”

“We were homies, Nick,” said Smoothie. “Of course she did.” 

“Spit it out, then.”

“Spit? Hm. I only ever swallow.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Nick said, exasperated. “Stay focused. Horse. Talk about the horse.”

Smoothie rolled his eyes and tried to piece together everything he remembered. He had always paid careful attention to everything Hailey said, all the better to manipulate her; even now he could remember innocuous details about the waiting room at her mother’s office, or her childhood friends, or her opinions about her uncomfortable, scratchy new school uniform. The girl had talked a lot about Happy the horse during their long car ride back to the city from Pipaluk. He had played into it and asked questions, since it was yet another aspect of Hailey’s lost childhood for him to exploit. Happy the horse was just another youthful fantasy that Sonny Shine had stolen from her, and Smoothie had been all too happy to use that to his advantage. 

“There was—hmm. There was a song, I don’t know if I remember it,” he said offhandedly. 

“Right right, the intro song. _The happy horse, horse, horse, so full of_ —”

“— _Fun, of course, of course_ ,” Smoothie finished. Nick hated hearing him say it in that blank, singsong voice, as if it weren’t real. Smoothie shrugged and said, “Right. That one. I told her it was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Nick grumbled. “I mean. Well, alright, yeah, it’s stupid. But she’s ten, you can’t tell a ten-year-old that they made something stupid.”

“Eleven.”

“What?”

“Eleven,” Smoothie repeated keenly. “She’s eleven, Nick.”

Nick blinked, then looked down at the table and tried to pretend that he’d only forgotten because of all the bourbon. “Right. I knew that.”

“You didn’t.”

“I knew that,” Nick insisted. “Because I remember forgetting her birthday, asshole.”

“Anyway,” said Smoothie, clearly uninterested in arguing about it. “She said that she’d had the imaginary friend for years, but that everything changed at Christmastime. She claimed that she sent it away to find you. To bring you to her rescue, like in some sort of fairytale. It sounded like she actually believed it. Don’t worry, I told her the truth. Made it clear that you only came to her rescue because of your involvement with the mob, with the very people who’d taken her.” 

“You told a ten year old that her imaginary friend wasn’t real and that her dad was a hitman?”

“Eleven. Of course I did, she had no need for childish fantasies,” Smoothie said. “They would only have gotten in the way of my programming.”

“Say that word again, asshole, I dare you.”

“Oh, sorry, which one? _Eleven_?”

“Fuck you,” Nick snapped. “Fuck you and your programming, fuck you and the fact that you even know any of this. It should have been me sitting around swapping stories with Hailey, not you. Never you.”

“Hm. Fatherhood becomes me,” Smoothie said in a perfect deadpan. “How ironic. My mother would be so delighted to hear.”

“Oh, fuck off. You probably hemorrhaged your mother on the way out, douchebag,” Nick snarled. 

He got a reaction that he hadn’t been expecting. Smoothie actually looked hurt by those words, which was enough to make Nick wonder if it was worth trying to take them back. The killer looked pointedly at the table and then off down the sidewalk towards the abandoned Italian restaurant, as if he regretted even leaving the building. There was an unfamiliar and ugly expression on his face, one that Nick particularly hated; Smoothie’s red eye flickered once in distress, but the brown one was perfectly still and a bit more moist than Nick thought it had any right to be. 

When Smoothie didn’t say anything, Nick grumbled under his breath for a moment and then backed down to say, “Go back to the horse.”

Smoothie didn’t seem interested in discussing Happy the horse anymore. He gave a small shrug of his shoulders and then straightened his blazer before saying, “Stupid fairytale.”

The next moment, he was already out of his seat and halfway gone. Nick left his paper coffee cup on the table and followed, uncertain of where they were going. The torture chamber was back the other way, on the other side of the block, and Smoothie didn’t seem to be headed anywhere in particular other than away from Nick. 

The hitman was still trying to formulate an apology and swallow his pride enough to voice it when Smoothie said, without turning around to face him, “I did, you know.”

“Did uh—did what?”

“She died in childbirth. So I suppose you’re right, aren’t you, about the hemorrhaging?”

“Oh. I wasn’t serious,” Nick managed, trying to catch up, huffing a little bit with the effort of matching Smoothie’s pace. “Didn’t know that.”

“Don’t know me much at all, do you? How shocking,” Smoothie snapped, turning around abruptly to fix him with a sneer. Nick stopped short and frowned down at him, then caught Smoothie’s wrists when the killer tried to give him an aggressive shove.

“Didn’t mean to unlock your tragic backstory this early in the game,” he growled. “It was an accident. To be fair, you were being a complete grade-A asshole.”

“Go fuck yourself, Nick,” Smoothie said, trying to tug his way out of the hitman’s grip again. “And let _go_ of me.”

“Nah, don’t think I will. C’mere,” Nick said. He didn’t wait for Smoothie to say something awful to him, since he could already see the killer planning a cruel response. Instead he pulled the little man into his arms with one yank of the wrist and crushed him into the cozy fabric of his fresh new sweater. Smoothie was tense at first, Nick could feel it, but the tighter Nick’s arms wound around him, the more he relaxed into the embrace. 

Nick let one of his hands come to rest at the back of the killer’s head and gave him an awkward little pat. He tried his best to be tender about it, but his hands were too harsh for that, too hasty. He pressed his lips into Smoothie’s crisp, clean dark hair and breathed in. 

Finally he muttered, “Didn’t mean to uh, hurt your feelings, or whatever. Something. I…well, sorry.”

Smoothie didn’t say anything. Nick felt the other man shift uncomfortably in his arms. When Smoothie tried to escape, the hitman only crushed him closer. 

“Listen, I’m not good at the apology thing,” Nick said. “Not great at the whole, uhhh…you know, with the feelings, and the words and all that, I guess. Whatever.”

Smoothie let out an irritated sound. The apology was too half-assed and awkward to mean much, but he liked the way that Nick’s fingers were combing through his hair. The heavy, masculine scent of Nick’s skin and the reek of cheap bourbon seeped through his sweater. Even now, Smoothie couldn’t get enough of the smell. It was too easy to get lost in. The warmth of the hitman’s body made the embrace even more enticing, so much so that Smoothie stopped trying to escape it. 

Smoothie was just as bad at accepting apologies as Nick was at giving them—he couldn’t think of any time in the past that he’d met an apology with anything other than swift, effective vengeance. He didn’t even know what to _say_ when accepting an apology. All he could think to do was snarl under his breath the word, “Fine.”

Nick didn’t kiss him, but the hitman’s lips pressed against his scalp even harder and Nick let out a vague, grateful noise. Finally he said, “You were right about the hungry thing, we oughtta find a bagel or something.”

He released Smoothie from the crush of his arms, but didn’t take his hands off of him. They lingered at the back of the killer’s neck. Nick was all soft touches and apologetic looks now, clearly regretting any hasty words. The fact that Smoothie’s face was still completely impassive must have bothered him, because he leaned down to give the other man a quick, harsh kiss on the lips to see if it improved Smoothie’s mood. Smoothie only grumbled and shook him off before heading down the sidewalk at a more reasonable pace. 

“We should get you a weapon,” the killer said, all business, banishing any hint of emotion from his voice. “One that won’t be traced. I know someone who can accommodate.”

“Right, I was thinking that. Who’s your guy?” Nick asked, thrilled to talk about literally anything else.

“One of Blue’s old contacts. Cheap, fast, reliable, and most importantly, discreet.”

“That what you put on your Grindr profile?”

“I’m not in the mood for any more of your stand-up comedy,” Smoothie said, a little bit more harshly than he needed to. “We have work to do.”

“Sorry, yeesh.”

Smoothie didn’t say anything else to him until they reached a little hole-in-the-wall local coffee shop, and even then, all he said was “Any bagel preferences?” in a sharp, quiet voice. Nick shook his head and accepted the two plain bagels that Smoothie ordered for him, which he assumed was meant to be some sort of punishment or newfangled torture technique. Smoothie got a nicer one for himself, with sesame seeds, and also ordered a smoothie, which made Nick bite his tongue. That one was _definitely_ some sort of torture technique; after all, it was painfully difficult not to make a joke, and Smoothie’s face made it clear that no more comedy would be tolerated. 

Once Smoothie had simmered down a little, Nick said through a mouthful of dry bagel, “So where’s your guy at?”

“Greenwich Village, not far,” said Smoothie. 

“I used to know a guy in the village.”

“Arms dealer?”

“Among other things, but yeah. Could be the same guy.”

“I hope not.”

“Why?” Nick asked, narrowing his eyes. “Skinny, Cajun, cocaine for days?”

Smoothie stared at him with increasing concern. He looked down at his bagel and then said, “Too much jewelry?”

“Le Dick. You know Le Dick?”

“I thought it was Le _Dic_ ,” Smoothie said. 

“Look at that! Same guy!” Nick laughed. He smacked one hand emphatically on the table and grinned through his bagel. “He’s an old friend of mine, I cut one of his fingers off. That’s not how we became friends, obviously. You know him through Blue? Didn’t take you for a cokehead, much less a gun nut.”

“We’re acquainted,” said Smoothie. 

“Being real vague right now, Watership Down. Hiding something?”

“Nick,” said Smoothie. “This might come as something of a shock to you, but I’m acquainted with a lot of people. Not quite as acquainted as I am with you, but…well.”

“Hold on, you’re not—”

“—Let’s just say it wasn’t difficult for Sonny Shine to acquire a tape,” Smoothie said meaningfully. “I haven’t always been as…careful as I am these days, let’s say. Or as picky.”

Nick took a moment to put two and two together, and then said, “You’ve been to the crazy animal orgy. The one at Shine Tower.”

Smoothie didn’t say anything, but he tilted his head to one side and pressed his lips together into a firm, no-nonsense line. Nick’s mind went into overdrive trying to picture the killer in form-fitting latex, and he had to turn his attention elsewhere to stave off a poorly-timed erection. Finally Nick said, “I mean—who _hasn’t_ been in the animal orgy, though?”

“You. I would have…noticed you,” Smoothie said, his imagination drifting somewhere similar to Nick’s. He swallowed hard at the thought of how well the smell of leather would blend into the hazy scent of smoke and salt on Nick’s skin. The very idea of it was enough to make his pulse skip, and that didn’t even take into account how tempting Nick’s deadly body would have looked among the flashing lights and writhing crowd. Smoothie licked his lips and said, “You wouldn’t have been easy to miss.”

“Joke’s on you, you must have just missed me. Wasn’t until Easter that I found my way there, and not exactly by choice.”

“Hmm. By then I was too preoccupied with my new flame to attend any parties,” said Smoothie, his lips twitching into a little smile, which put Nick at ease. “You, I mean.”

“Aww.”

“No more wild orgies for me,” Smoothie sighed. “Not since before Christmas, at least.”

“Since Christmas? Really?”

“Maybe one or two attempts. Just didn’t feel the same, after you.” 

Nick’s shoulders dropped a little, and his eyes took on a quality that Smoothie couldn’t tell whether he liked or not—they were a little bit touched, but a lot more skeptical. One of Nick’s hands moved to brush his, and even though Smoothie frowned disdainfully at it, he didn’t push it away. He looked up to confront the hideously vulnerable expression on the hitman’s face. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to crush it or match it. 

“After raping you, I mean,” he said, doing his best to crush it. 

Nick only smirked and rapped his fingertips against the killer’s knuckles affectionately. “Right, right. Once you go Sax, you never go back.”

The corner of Smoothie’s mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to smile at that. He pointedly took a sip of his drink and said nothing. 

“So let me get this straight, or…eh,” Nick went on, squinting a little while he debated the word choice. “Seen Le Dick’s le dick, is that right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“See, I knew you had hobbies,” Nick said. He sounded pleased, as if anonymous celebrity furry orgies were just as commonplace as, say, bowling or roller derby. 

“Not really,” Smoothie admitted. “Still mostly used them as an opportunity to find victims who wouldn’t be missed. You know, people known for their risky lifestyle choices, ones already likely to go missing.”

“Must have had at least a _little_ bit of fun, though.”

Smoothie frowned and said, “Hence the tape.”

Nick leaned back in his seat with a smug grin, then crossed his arms over his chest. “See, you can lighten up every now and then. There’s proof out there somewhere, probably locked up in the evidence department downtown. I’d give my right eye to see that.”

Smoothie’s eyebrows hardened into a glare. “Speaking from experience, no, you would not.” 

“What animal?”

“Pardon?”

“C’mon, mine was an armadillo. To be fair, I did _not_ get to pick,” Nick said. “Dish. What animal?”

He could see the now-familiar blush creeping up the killer’s neck from his collar, and he found it unexpectedly adorable that Smoothie’s glare somehow still looked intimidating in spite of it. Nick fixated on the other man’s lips while they curled into a mean, bitter grimace.

“What animal do you _think_?” Smoothie sneered, tapping his cheekbone right beneath the ugly red eye. 

“ _Mm_. Rabbit season,” Nick growled raunchily. 

“Very funny.” 

“Bet you looked real good in that getup. Kinda wish you’d kept it.”

Nick thought that would be too much to ask of the universe, but the look on Smoothie’s face suggested that he’d _definitely_ kept it, and maybe even wore it when he was home alone just for kicks. The flush across the killer’s face deepened while Nick’s grin widened mischievously. 

“Ohhhhhohoho,” the hitman chuckled, easing forward in his chair and letting his eyes rove up and down Smoothie’s body, trying to picture it. His tongue flashed inadvertently across his teeth, and the gesture made Smoothie’s eyes snap instantly to look at his mouth. 

Finally Smoothie said, “Never hurts to have an outfit for every occasion.”

“Mm, I think I feel an occasion coming on already, baby,” Nick noted, shifting in his seat. Smoothie’s eyes tracked his every movement greedily, and they only met his gaze again when Nick said, “You can dust it off for me later tonight, how about that?”

“Believe me, I’d be more than happy to accommodate that _particular_ request, but alas, I didn’t bring it along,” Smoothie said with a helpless gesture. 

“Damn shame,” Nick sighed. “Ah, well. Hate to break it to you, but I didn’t keep mine. It was a loaner. From Le Dick, actually.” 

“Speaking of which,” said Smoothie, glad for the change of subject, while he loosened the knot of his tie to try and make the flush around his neck die down. “We should pay him a visit. Think he’ll sell you out if he knows that you’re alive?”

“Nah, he’s one of them honorable scumbags. He and I go way back. He’s a douchebag, but he’s a trustworthy douchebag,” Nick said. “Let me handle it, all you’ll do is scare the ever-living fuck out of him.”

“Hm. Well, knowing where I met him, I doubt he would mind. Might be into that sort of thing.”

“Euggghh,” said Nick. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not totally sure we both need to be there, right? Probably better if I meet him one on one. Don’t want to overload the poor guy with ghosts of Christmas past.”

“Sounds like you’re afraid to explain yourself,” said Smoothie. “Still nervous about showing up in the company of another man?”

“You keep acting like I’ve got some weird underlying homophobia thing going on, but buddy, that just ain’t it.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Nah, it genuinely ain’t it,” Nick insisted, firmly. “Look, here’s what I’ll cop to—you confuse the shit out of me, and I’m still confused. Sure. This is all new for me. But everybody’s got a mouth, both of us feel like hot wet spaghetti inside, I ain’t a picky type of guy, and you’re easily the hottest nemesis I’ve ever had, at least thus far in the hellscape of my life.”

“How sweet.”

“Point is, no. No, I’m not _ashamed_ of being seen with a guy, or whatever twisted guilt scenario you’ve come up with,” Nick snorted. “But I’ll fuckin’ admit, I’m still not sure how to explain the whole ‘boyfriend collects human organs on his off hours’ aspect of it to my work buddies. Is that such a crime?”

Smoothie had been disinterested in what he thought was a bullshit tirade at first, but by the end of it he looked convinced. He weighed the other man’s words, then shrugged and said, “Le Dic was affiliated with Blue. He knows the game. You might be friendly with him, yes, but if _I’m_ around, he’ll be certain not to snitch.”

“I cut the guy’s finger off,” Nick reminded him.

“Pff. How amateurish,” Smoothie said, rolling his eyes. “Starting with the fingers.”

“What? That’s classic.”

“Doesn’t leave an impression at all, it’s much too standard. Expected, even, in our line of work. Better to start somewhere more sensitive, someplace unexpected.”

“All I’m hearing you say is ‘go straight for the penis’, but I think you’re biased, babe.”

“Penis is a much better option,” said Smoothie, still talking shop. “Establishes dominance immediately. Not likely to hear any sass after that, wouldn’t you agree?”

“On the one hand you’ve tried to cut off _my_ penis, so this conversation is really putting me off, but on the other hand, hearing you say the phrase _establishes dominance immediately_ has left me instantly and uncomfortably hard,” Nick admitted.

“Mmm. You’ve proven my point.”

“Guess I have,” said Nick. “Still probably gonna sass you, though, every now and again.”

“Only because you’re still intact,” said Smoothie with a frightening gleam in his eye. He smiled, and Nick didn’t trust the smile at all. “But I prefer you that way, as you might have noticed. Even if it means tolerating a bit of sass.” 

“Still uncomfortably hard right now.”

“Mm, I’m sure.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Nick insisted, hoping that the poorly-timed erection would die down, even though the words _latex_ and _dominance_ and _rabbit season_ were still whirling around in his brain. “Le Dick.”

“Should be able to supply whatever arsenal you need.”

“Guns and ammo, some explosives wouldn’t hurt.”

“Explosives?”

“You never know.” 

Smoothie shrugged and didn’t press the issue. No one in Nick’s life had ever done that before; shrugged off a statement about picking up C4 as if it were nothing more than an extra item on a grocery list. When the killer went on unbothered, Nick liked the fact that Smoothie hadn’t made him feel like a madman for making the suggestion. He was used to receiving horrified looks whenever he talked about his work, even from fellow mobsters. It was nice knowing that Smoothie wasn’t fazed. 

“Anyway, we ought to show up to Le Dic’s hideout earlier rather than later. Might catch him before all the cocaine sets in,” Smoothie recommended. 

“The guy doesn’t wake up until the afternoon, he’s a party animal,” Nick said. 

“Gives us a few spare hours,” Smoothie said, looking down at his watch. “Might be worth looking into whatever Orcus has been up to lately. I’m sure someone knows something. Could be that he has enemies, could be that they know something—”

“—Right, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. No reason to run around like chickens with our heads cut off,” said Nick. “Better to stay focused. One thing at a time. Too many leads can get messy, we’ll look into it once we’re armed and dangerous enough not to be fucked with.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Smoothie, I hate to break it to you, but you’re easily fucked with,” Nick said, maybe a bit too bluntly. “First of all, a scarecrow could beat you up. Second of all, you’re what we used to call a _loose cannon_ , back when I was on the force. Easily distracted. To be completely honest, you’re a liability in the field.”

“Excuse me?”

“Blue never sent you out to kick ass, he had someone else bring his enemies right to you. Have you ever even _been_ in a shootout?” 

“No,” said Smoothie, under his breath. 

“Fistfight?”

“Not many.”

“Exactly. Stick to your chloroform shit and don’t get in my way,” Nick said. “You’re no good to me dead.”

Smoothie definitely looked offended at the suggestion that he couldn’t hold his own in a fight, but he didn’t argue with it. After all, his small stature and lack of brutal machismo had led to his preference for needles and quiet takedowns, in stark opposition to Nick’s tendency to beat opponents into the dust. Smoothie had to admit that he found the hitman’s bare-knuckle combat prowess attractive; Nick could break bodies in ways that Smoothie could only fantasize about. It made Smoothie a little bit weak in the knees to think about it. 

“Expecting a lot of bloodshed?” he asked, unable to keep the giddy, hopeful note out of his voice. 

“I’m not going to pick up an assload of guns just to write Orcus a kindly-worded letter. I plan on blowing out his brains, and I plan on giving anyone else who gets in my way the same treatment,” Nick growled in response. He saw a little smile dance across Smoothie’s face, and he went on, “Oh, you like that, do you, sicko? Want to watch me paint a few walls with a few poor sons of bitches?”

“So much,” Smoothie admitted. 

“Little freak. Bet you’ll be watching with one hand down your pants,” Nick said, narrowing his eyes and clicking his tongue. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Mff. You know, Blue told me _so_ much about you. I didn’t believe half of it, at first. But there was one particular day at work that wiped away my skepticism,” said Smoothie. He pushed the remnants of his meal aside to lace his fingers together on the table, then leaned in, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. There was something giddy behind it. “Blue paged me in the early hours of the morning, told me something had gone wrong with a hit. One of his men had gotten a little bit overzealous, he said. Took out more than just the intended target. Enough bodies to raise suspicions, even despite the police being in his pocket. He needed me to scrub the place down, make sure there was no forensic evidence to link the massacre to anyone who worked for him.”

“God, I hate listening to you.”

Smoothie went on unfazed. “I asked him for a rough estimate on how many bodies were involved, the size of the room, typical scrub-down details. He said ‘ _If you’re wondering how much bleach you’ll need, just bring all of it’_. I thought he was exaggerating.”

“Right.”

“The place was an absolute masterpiece,” Smoothie sighed wistfully. “Nick, you’d killed people in ways that I couldn’t even _dream_ of. I found one man you’d beaten so savagely that he had literally caved in on himself. Another one whose back you’d broken in _four_ places. His spine looked like some kind of particularly upsetting Tetris piece.”

“Mrrrghh,” Nick mumbled, averting his eyes. “Sometimes shit gets out of hand. Was this someplace in Bushwick?”

“I had always hoped I’d get to see you in action, and then when we finally met…well,” Smoothie chuckled. “You were even more inspiring to watch than I expected. You left quite an impression on me.”

“I can see that.”

“The idea of watching you _snap_ someone apart like that gets me all flustered,” Smoothie said, casting an appreciative eye over the rough, battle-hardened skin of Nick’s knuckles. “Makes me feel things.”

“Er,” said Nick, uncomfortably. “Things?”

“Mmhmm. Mostly it makes me wish we were alone somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick rumbled. “Somewhere nice and cozy for you to, what, establish _dominance_?”

“Not necessarily. I like mixing things up.”

“Blue always said you were a versatile guy, though I’m pretty sure he was talking about your resume, not what you like between the sheets.”

“What I like between the sheets is _you_ ,” said Smoothie in a dark, possessive voice that Nick especially liked. “In any fashion, really. Right now, for example, I’d be inclined to let you treat me quite…harshly, let’s say.”

“Would you, now?” 

“In a heartbeat.”

“Well, color me interested,” said the hitman with a wolfish grin. He leaned in to readjust Smoothie’s tie with a few rough touches, his smile widening when he saw how eagerly the other man’s body responded. “We could take the day off. Le Dick can wait until tomorrow.”

“Hm, no. But since we’re not in any immediate rush, I wouldn’t mind going off on a little…” Smoothie stopped, then calculated his words for a moment and said, “Rabbit trail.”

“Mfff. I can be convinced.”

“I’m sure.”

“Been looking forward to giving you a permanent limp.”

“Please do,” said Smoothie, his voice weirdly detached, as if he were ordering a coffee, even though his eyes were still fixed ravenously on Nick’s face.

“Been looking forward to shutting you up for a while, too,” Nick said, his tone teasing and casual. “With my dick, I mean. In your mouth, obviously. Nothing else keeps you quiet.”

“Mm. True.”

“I plan on keeping you quiet for a nice, long time.”

“Is that so?”

“Hope your knees don’t bruise as easily as the rest of you, because you’re gonna be on ‘em for a while,” Nick growled suggestively. “Gonna look real pretty down there. I’ll bet you’re used to it, though, aren’t you? Bet you love letting someone use you like a worn-out sock.”

Smoothie swallowed whatever piece of his heart had crept into his throat, then shrugged and tried to pretend that his mind wasn’t already spinning at the thought of it. “From time to time, yes.”

“Can’t _wait_ to get another hit of Nick Sax’s dick, can you?”

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” Smoothie admitted. “Besides, it _is_ your turn.” 

“Smoothie, that’s still not how it works.”

“It is for me,” the killer said, definitively. “Would you rather argue about it, or would you rather we find a hotel?”

“Hotel? What about the torture chamber?”

“It’s occupied, and I’d like to keep it that way. So, unless you want an audience…”

“Ah, balls,” Nick grumbled. “I forgot we were still arguing about that. You distracted me.” 

“Right. Allow me to distract you again,” said Smoothie, looking at his watch. “You have thirty seconds to decide. Argue about the torture chamber or, as you so elegantly put it, use me like a worn-out sock? You can’t have both.”

“Mrrrgghhh.”

“Twenty-eight seconds, Nick.”

“It’s not exactly a fair exchange rate,” Nick complained with a prolonged grumble and a frown. 

“Twenty-one.”

“I mean seriously, what kind of an asshole would I be if I picked a blowjob over an actual human life?” Nick went on. “It’s a rigged game, not fair, this is just like being at a carnival.”

“Ooh. Ten seconds. Better hurry, stud.”

“Smoothie—”

“—Eight.”

“—Fuckin’ hell, fine, you win,” Nick snapped. “Blowjob, I pick blowjob, you fuckin’ psychopath.”

Smoothie’s smile was bright and delighted, and he tore his gaze from the wristwatch to give Nick a grateful look and a dreamy sigh. When he reached across the table to stroke the back of Nick’s hand, Nick made note of the way his touch lingered affectionately. 

“So sweet,” Smoothie said. “So accommodating.”

“Such an asshole,” Nick snorted in response, unsure whether he was talking about himself or Smoothie. 

“Don’t be rude. We’re having a moment.”

“Oh, really? Are we? Didn’t realize.”

“Don’t ruin it for me,” Smoothie said with a gentle tilt of his head. “I was just starting to get lost in those big, drunken eyes of yours. Totally hypnotizing.” 

“I’d say the same, baby, but looking at your eye for too long _does_ kinda make me want to kill myself,” Nick told him flatly. 

“And you’ve ruined it,” Smoothie said. He rolled his eyes and stood, shaking off a few sesame seeds from his clothes and then gesturing for Nick to follow him out of the cafe. The hitman didn’t take any convincing; he went after Smoothie without bothering to argue. 

Out on the sidewalk he let one of his arms slip snugly around the killer’s waist, and _almost_ didn’t feel weird about how correct and comfortable the gesture felt. When Smoothie gave him a disgusted look in return, Nick hastily mumbled something about how chilly it was. 

There wasn’t a hotel on the block that suited Smoothie’s particular tastes, but there was one between there and Greenwich Village, and that was good enough. The walk was brief, his car was somewhere relatively safe and close by, and he was too eager to get Nick alone to look for a better option. 

The front desk associate, whose name tag read _Bruce_ , was a weathered man who had clearly seen every manner of slightly suspicious hotel check-ins in his day. His eyes drifted from Nick to Smoothie and then back again, and he didn’t ask any intimate questions. He did, however, give Nick a little thumbs-up when Smoothie’s back was turned. Nick considered it for a moment, then looked Smoothie over and gave the desk associate a reluctant nod of agreement. To an outside observer who didn’t know about his hobbies, Smoothie probably looked like quite a catch; especially for someone like Nick.

“Luggage?” Asked Bruce toward the end of the check-in process. 

“Ain’t got any,” said Nick. 

“Right,” Bruce said knowingly. “Room 404, elevator’s down the hall to your left. There’s a concierge shop just past it, if you…need anything.”

“Great,” said Nick, growing more uncomfortable by the second. “Probably won’t.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Bruce. 

Smoothie made a petulant noise and swiped the keycard from Bruce’s hand when it was offered, then turned on his heel and headed for the elevator, pulling Nick behind him by the scarf. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Nick said to the man behind the desk before he let Smoothie drag him away. When he caught up to the killer he muttered into Smoothie’s ear, “Think that guy has any idea what kind of ungodly shit I’m about to do to you?”

Smoothie didn’t say anything, but he pressed the button for the elevator no less than six times. 

“Hitting it harder won’t make it come,” Nick informed him. “You, on the other hand, who knows? Definitely worth an experiment.”

Smoothie glared with his one good eye, smashed the button again emphatically, and then made his way through the elevator door when it opened a second later. He waited until the door was shut to say, “Wishful thinking only leads to disappointment.”

“Such a skeptic,” Nick sighed. “I once had a buddy who told me that if you believe hard enough, anything can happen. Ever heard of that?”

“Nonsense,” said Smoothie, curtly. 

“It’s a whole thing. Believing in something. What do the new age kids call it these days? _Manifesting_. I’m _manifesting_ it,” Nick explained, letting Smoothie drag him even more insistently out of the elevator and down the long, carpeted hallway full of identical room doors. “If you had a little faith, too, who knows what could happen?”

“Frottage and disappointment, I expect,” Smoothie snapped. “Can we put a pin in this? I’d rather enjoy myself in ways that are _actually_ possible, rather than humor your fantasies.”

“Fine. Still gonna give you a run for your money.”

“I’m counting on it,” said Smoothie, sliding the keycard into the door of room 404 and then shoving Nick into the room once it was open. 

The hotel was a bit dated, but still smelled fresh and cozy. Nick wasted no time in throwing his ratty coat and new scarf over an armchair in the corner and then flopping onto the queen mattress like a beached whale. 

Smoothie shut the door and scanned the room critically. It wasn’t glamorous, but he didn’t particularly care; he’d seen worse, and besides, all that really mattered was the fact that he had Nick alone and already horizontal. 

“Stay down,” he said sharply, shrugging off his blazer and hanging it up in the closet near the door. “And take off the sweater.”

“What’s with the bossy attitude? Thought you were in the mood to get smacked around.”

“I am. But I’m particular about it, and I’ll have to ask you to avoid the face,” Smoothie said, sounding oddly disappointed about that. “Already have a tooth loose from yesterday, otherwise I’d be open to anything.”

“Jesus,” Nick said. “You actually like that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Getting beat up?”

“In a controlled environment,” Smoothie said. He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Usually.”

“But it hurts.”

“Everything interesting in life hurts, Nick.”

“Seems like it hurts a lot,” Nick grumbled, watching Smoothie undo his tie and then cross the room without rushing to sit on the bed beside him. The hitman went on, “Is that all you do, then? Never just have, you know, normal sex? Like a normal person? For lack of a better word?”

Smoothie stared at him as if he’d just said something in an alien language. After contemplating it for a moment he said, “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Life with no dick doesn’t have to be all blood and guts and getting the shit beat out of you,” Nick said.

“Oh, no, not because of my anatomical details, just because I don’t enjoy it. Don’t get anything out of it,” said Smoothie with a shrug. “Just feels like nothing. I must have faulty wiring somewhere inside.”

Nick was tired of waiting and eager to prove a point. He tugged the undone tie from the killer’s neck and brought him forcefully down to the mattress before rolling over to pin him there with his body weight. He could see excitement flickering across Smoothie’s face already. 

“I’m not convinced this is a physical issue,” Nick said, letting his hands roam wherever they wanted, feeling out every part of the other man’s body that he could reach. “I think it’s all in your head. Got more to do with your bad attitude than your admittedly confusing but extremely fuckable body.”

“This is all very charming,” Smoothie admitted. He let out a languid sigh and pulled Nick into a long, controlling kiss. When he broke away he pressed his lips up against the hitman’s ear and murmured in his most seductive voice, “Still, as charming as it is, I’d rather you just skullfuck me and be done with it.”

“That’s—a lot,” Nick managed. 

“Mff. That’s what I’d like most, but you don’t have to jump right into it,” said Smoothie, as if he were talking about something as mundane as a grocery list. “I don’t mind a warmup. You can take your time, do whatever suits your fancy. Just make sure it hurts.”

Nick frowned, feeling surprisingly conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted to give in to temptation and take advantage of Smoothie’s willingness to be used roughly. On the other, he was getting less and less interested in hurting Smoothie with each passing day. He found himself wishing that he could put the violence aside, just for an hour or two—just long enough to see whether or not the killer would respond to a more sensitive touch. 

“Smoothie,” he said, unable to keep the awkwardness from seeping into his voice. 

“What?” The other man responded impatiently. 

“You could’ve really messed me up last night if you’d wanted to,” Nick said. Now Smoothie’s eyes were hardening into an exasperated, angry expression, and Nick avoided looking at them to say, “Just wanted to thank you for not doing that.”

“Get on with it.”

“Thought it might be a good idea to be a bit more nice to each other,” Nick suggested. “Not too nice, obviously. You’re horrible. But, you know. Just. Nicer. In situations like this.”

Smoothie let his head fall back into the comforter while he rolled his eyes halfway into the next dimension. An irritated noise came out of him, and Nick tried to ward off another one by busying himself with the killer’s buttons at once. 

“Nick, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds like you’d rather _make love_ to me than _fuck_ me. Now, I’ll admit, I do find that strangely adorable,” Smoothie said disdainfully. “But it isn’t really my area of interest, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not usually mine either. Not for a long time now, but it’s worth a shot, just for kicks.” 

“Uggh. I’m bored even just talking about it.”

“You might have fun. How long has it been since someone—?” Nick paused, catching himself before the disgusting phrase _made love to you_ slipped out, and then replaced it with, “—since someone treated you nicely?”

Smoothie didn’t say anything at first. He looked up at the stark white ceiling and tried to ignore the unfamiliar warm feeling that was bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. Finally he grumbled, “A while.”

Nick’s hands were still tough and clumsy, but every touch was a little bit softer than normal, a little bit more careful. He gave Smoothie one long, rough kiss and then broke away to nestle his lips against the killer’s neck more gently, seeking out whatever sensitive spots he could find. 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun,” he said with a nasty grin. “I’m still gonna throw your pretty little jaw out of alignment. Just want to do it a bit more nicely, is all. Like we don’t hate each other.”

“But we _do_ hate each other,” Smoothie said, even though he sounded unconvinced. 

“Not so sure about that anymore.”

“We do,” the killer insisted, though at this point he was only trying to convince himself. He bit down sharply into his lower lip when Nick started kissing his neck in all the right places. The hitman’s lips were firm and scraped deliciously against him, but Nick’s usual cruelty had faded away. He was obviously trying to please instead of trying to work out his anger. 

“We _hate_ each other,” Smoothie repeated while his eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep himself silent while Nick finished undoing his buttons. 

“Nah. You’re learning to like me,” Nick growled into his ear. He pushed the killer down into the sheets and adored the soft, helpless sound that Smoothie let out. “Think I might be doing the same with you. You’re not so bad without all the chloroform.” 

“Yes, I am,” Smoothie snarled. 

“You’re not, though, baby.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? Because you like it? Because it feels nice?” Nick asked. “Feeling nice ain’t half bad when you give it a chance.”

“You’re chasing an idiotic fantasy,” Smoothie said. He tried to push Nick away, but it was useless. All it did was leave him breathless and remind him of how powerful Nick’s body was. He hated how much he liked that, and how much he enjoyed being trapped underneath it; there was something deliciously degrading about the way that Nick ignored his squirming and kissed him even more insistently. 

Nick chuckled to himself while he forced the other man’s arms back down and kept them pinned there. His hands were as inescapable as the rest of him, and Smoothie was no match for it, even though he struggled for a minute out of spite, or maybe pride. Nick smirked down at him until he went still, then released one of the killer’s hands to boop him gently on the end of the nose.

“How about this: _this_ time we do it like we don’t hate each other,” Nick suggested, in a voice that implied that it wasn’t a suggestion Smoothie could argue with. “And if you can’t stand it, then just think of it as a new fucked-up layer of whatever nasty bondage shit you’re into, and think happy thoughts until it’s over.”

“That’s not bondage, that’s just masochism,” Smoothie corrected. 

“Little bit of both,” Nick said, tightening his grip on the killer’s other wrist and pushing him down harder just to emphasize his point. That made Smoothie’s pupil dilate eerily, though only in one eye. He looked more tempted by the suggestion than Nick had expected, even in spite of his grumbling and all of his complaints. 

Smoothie stared up at the other man, his breath quick and shallow, and then said, “Compromise?”

“Fine, name it.”

“Skullfucking,” Smoothie demanded. Then, reluctantly, he added, “Like we don’t hate each other, if you insist.”

“Not sure how to do that nicely.”

“It’s what I want.”

“Yeah, but you’ve also told me within the last seventy-two hours that you wouldn’t mind it if I ripped your head off,” Nick reminded him. “Doesn’t seem like you’re a great judge for, y’know, this sort of thing. Can you gimme an alternative?”

Smoothie’s stare hardened. “My alternative would require a tarp or a tub. Still interested?”

“Eeeeeuuuuugghhh,” said Nick, “Right, well, we’re back to skullfucking then, I guess.”

“Perfect. Everybody wins,” Smoothie said. He let his face relax into a smile, then said, “We have a deal, then. I’ll… _tolerate_ your sentimentality for an hour or two. Go ahead and bore me to your heart’s content.”

Nick didn’t need to be told twice. He barely let Smoothie finish the sentence before catching him in a fierce kiss, which was more just an excitable clash of teeth and tongues than anything coordinated or romantic. Smoothie made it clear how much he liked it by growling Nick’s name halfway through in a voice that dripped with quiet desperation. 

Nick couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuinely nervous about being in a hotel bed with someone. He wasn’t sure whether it was because his eager hands found two switchblades hidden in Smoothie’s pockets or whether it was just because he was hoping to see actual affection on the other man’s face by the end of this. He couldn’t see anything in Smoothie’s eyes right now except impatience. 

“It’s not actually that bad, you know,” Nick admitted more quietly than he anticipated. “Gets a little less freaky and a little more cute the more you look at it. The bunny eye.”

Smoothie only scowled. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“Nick.”

“It really does,” Nick insisted, maybe more defensively than he needed to. He silenced Smoothie with another long, firm kiss and only broke away when he felt Smoothie’s teeth seeking out his bottom lip too harshly. A rumble of disapproval and a gentle shake from Nick put a stop to it. “Knock off the teeth. _Nicely_ , I said.” 

“That was my version of _nicely_ ,” said Smoothie. He sounded genuinely confused. “That’s just how I—there’s no other way to—”

“You can do it without the teeth.”

“Improbable.”

“Smoothie, you’re not being very cooperative.”

“I’m trying,” said Smoothie halfheartedly, in an impatient voice which suggested that he wasn’t really trying very hard at all. 

“Fine, compromise,” Nick muttered. He moved one of his hands to the killer's throat, noting how the gesture made Smoothie’s face light up with interest immediately, and tightened it just until he heard a delighted noise escape the other man’s lips. He let himself feel the quick rhythm of Smoothie’s pulse underneath his fingers before leaning in to say, “No fuckin’ teeth this time, understood?”

“Mmmfff.”

Smoothie was much more cooperative with a strong hand wrapped around his neck. Nick liked how easy it was to keep him in check with a little bit of restraint; when he resumed the kiss, Smoothie melted eagerly at his touch and went along with the gentler pace that Nick set. He didn’t even complain. His body responded excitedly, even though he wasn’t used to being touched so softly. Most of the kisses in Smoothie’s life had been violent, and that was how he preferred it—at least up until now, anyway. He was quickly realizing that he didn’t mind Nick’s alternative. Even though Nick’s mouth was gentle, the underlying strength of his body and the coarse texture of his skin ended up being more than enough to keep Smoothie interested. He didn’t even mind it when Nick’s grip on his throat softened. The hitman’s hands felt amazing whether they were dishing out cruelty or not. 

Nick settled comfortably against him, murmuring a sound of satisfaction. He felt out of his element, but he liked it; it reminded him of the old days, before his life went completely to shit. He could remember kissing Amanda like this back when they first met. Nick had fully expected to go the rest of his life without kissing anyone this softly again, and he wondered how bored Smoothie was with it, since he was certainly out of practice and didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. All he could think to do was pull gently at the other man’s shirt, at his skin, even at his face, as if he couldn’t bring Smoothie close enough for his own satisfaction. It took every ounce of his shoddy self-control to let go of the killer, and even then he only moved away to take off Smoothie’s shirt and smile at his ear. 

“Wanna know what I like about you?” he asked, in a tone so lighthearted and sincere that he almost didn’t believe the voice was his own. 

“No,” Smoothie said immediately. 

“You’re scary as shit,” Nick growled into his ear with a big, obnoxious grin. He knew that Smoothie liked hearing that. The way the killer’s hands roved appreciatively over his chest made it unmistakable, and so did the way Smoothie’s head turned a little to lean into him, seeking out his smile. Nick went on, “You’re one of the baddest pieces of shit in New York City. That’s sayin’ somethin’. Surplus population. I’ve seen some fucked up things in my day, but never anything like what you do.” 

“Really?” Smoothie asked. Nick could hear the first hint of pride brimming in his voice. 

“Oh, yeah. I shouldn’t like it, I know that. Call it my guilty pleasure,” the hitman said easily. “But I do. Makes me feel like nothing I say could ever freak you out. You won’t think I’m a psychopath, because you’re already a psychopath. Never had that with anyone before.”

Smoothie made a sympathetic sound. Nick thought it might be fake, at first, but then the killer’s touches slowed and softened, his fingers curling contemplatively against Nick’s chest. 

“Hm. You have a similar quality,” he said. 

“Same quality, I think.” 

“Not the same,” Smoothie insisted. “You’re more afraid of me than I am of you. Odd, since of the two of us, I consider you more dangerous. But it’s entirely understandable to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” 

“No?”

“No.”

Nick tried to prove the point by kissing him again, but it was short-lived; Smoothie only let him take control for a moment before snarling into his mouth, “You _ought_ to be.” 

“Be nice,” Nick reminded him. He silenced the irritated sound that came out of Smoothie’s mouth with another smaller kiss, and then undid the killer’s belt as slowly as he could, trying to take his time with it. His hands fumbled with the buckle, not used to the more delicate motions, but once his lips found Smoothie’s skin again, the killer was too distracted to care. Nick’s mouth was greedy and eager to please. It was all too easy for the killer to close his eyes and sink into the attention. 

“I’m not afraid of you at all,” Nick repeated, loving the fact that trailing his lips over Smoothie’s chest made the little man shiver underneath him. “You already did everything you wanted to me. All the messed up shit was just your version of _flirting_. Like leaving your number on the bottom of a receipt with an attention-grabbing tip, right?”

He didn’t give Smoothie a chance to respond; instead he let one of his hands slide roughly past the killer’s belt to feel out the mound between his legs, listening to the sharp, excited sound that it drew out of him. “Mm. Didn’t take you long to get my attention, did it, Smoothie?” 

“Not at all,” the killer breathed against him, his voice hot and quick, both eyes flickering down to watch Nick touch him. He couldn’t get enough of the sight of Nick’s hand down the front of his pants, or the sensation of that rough, coarse palm stroking him between the legs. Even if it was only surface-level, it felt incredible. 

“Look at you,” Nick said with a smile, giving the killer’s mound a squeeze just to drive another desperate sound out of him. “For a guy who doesn’t date, you sure love being touched.”

“I could say the same about you,” Smoothie managed. He bit back a sound that might have been Nick’s name, convinced that it sounded too needy to let the hitman hear it, even though he could hardly stand how good it felt to be treated like this. He couldn’t remember anyone else exploring him with such genuine interest, not even in the darkest of the city’s dungeons. Nick’s fingers worked against him as if he were testing out every inch of skin, finding each and every spot that made Smoothie’s body react. 

Smoothie didn’t want to think about the fact that Nick could play him like a fiddle by now; the hitman had clearly been keeping track these past few days of where he liked to be touched, and how. He could tell by the way Nick’s fingertips sought out the tender skin between the scars. It was a little bit sweet, he thought, even though the thought made him sick to his stomach. That was what it had to be, the quivering sensation that he could feel welling up now in the pit of his gut—sickness. It was too unfamiliar to be anything else. Every soft, scraping kiss that Nick planted on his collarbone intensified it just as much as the hitman’s hard, effective hands. 

“You don’t mind,” Nick murmured against his skin. “Don’t mind it nice and gentle. You said you’d be bored, but you look like you’re warming up to it pretty fast. You don’t usually let anyone do this to you, isn’t that right?” 

Smoothie wanted to say something sarcastic and mean, but those fingers pressed up against his lowest, most sensitive scars and forced the truth out of him. “—Not usually, no.”

“I can tell. Why not?” 

“It’s— _oh_.” Smoothie stopped short and bit his lip when Nick’s fingers stroked that sensitive spot over and over again, working up a rhythm that did something unexpectedly delightful to him. “It’s, ah. Not worth the questions I have to answer. Not worth the—conversation.”

“Aw, baby, you can’t be serious,” Nick laughed. 

Smoothie didn’t say anything, and that made the hitman pause and look up at him again; he looked completely serious. Nick let out one more nervous laugh, hoping that the killer was joking, but the way Smoothie’s red eye flashed to one side indicated otherwise. 

“But your name is literally _Smoothie_ ,” Nick objected. “And I mean, the animal orgy—”

“—Easy to avoid conversations in an environment like that,” Smoothie said. He squirmed in Nick’s grip, disappointed that Nick’s hand had stopped teasing him. 

“But your _name_ is—”

“—Not something anyone who has sex with me needs to know,” Smoothie snapped, giving Nick an unexpectedly nasty kick and then grinding his hips into the hitman’s hand, trying to force him back into motion. “Keep going. Stop talking.”

“Nah, wait.”

Nick pulled his hand out of the killer’s pants to push him down, readjusting himself to avoid getting kicked again and keeping Smoothie trapped with his weight. He didn’t wait for Smoothie to quit struggling, he just made it impossible for the struggling to matter. 

“Look,” he said gruffly. “I get it, you hate talking about this, it’s miserable. You’d probably rather take another bullet to the face than even think the word _intimacy_ , and believe me, I get it. Birds of a feather, pal. You’re preaching to the choir.”

“Shut up,” Smoothie ordered. 

“You shut up. This is an official investigation.”

“Nick.”

“You’re a criminal, you’ve been caught by a strangely attractive detective,” Nick growled. He studied Smoothie’s face and then altered his tone briefly to say, “See what I’m doing here? This is a role play thing, to avoid direct intimacy. This is top notch psychological shit right here, you gotta be into this.”

“I’m not into this,” Smoothie told him. 

“Smoothie. You said we’d do it my way.”

“I don’t like your way.”

“Then just lean into my weird sex game, baby.”

Smoothie didn’t look nearly as excited about the phrase “weird sex game” as Nick had hoped, and the frown that spread across his face looked nothing short of painful. When Nick moved in to kiss his chin, the killer twisted his head away and grumbled unhappily. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Smoothie said. 

“You want me, though, and I’m willing to bet you’ll do just about anything if it’ll get my dick in your mouth,” Nick said with a smirk, taunting the killer with another annoying kiss on the chin. “C’mon, baby. Your turn to lean in to destiny.”

Smoothie looked a little bit irritated and a lot more uncomfortable. When he spoke again, the words came out through his teeth in a thin, threatening voice. “No. I don’t want intimacy, direct or indirect. You’re a trophy. You’re a reminder of a job well done, like a company keychain. Nothing more.”

“You’re not the kind of guy who keeps his trophies alive, though, are you?” Nick demanded. “And I’m willing to bet any amount of cash that you don’t fuck your keychains, either.”

Smoothie rolled his eyes and said nothing. 

“Alright, fine. You’re not the first homicidal maniac I’ve had to negotiate with,” Nick sighed, sounding disappointed but entirely unsurprised. “Talk to me and I’ll make it worth your while. Quid pro quo. You can even name your price.”

The phrase _name your price_ piqued Smoothie’s interest, and the hostility faded from his face immediately when the words left Nick’s mouth. He pretended to mull it over for a moment, even though the idea was too tempting to resist. He could feel Nick’s lips brushing his chin again, trying to coax him into cooperation, and he found the sensation just as tempting as the offer. 

He sighed and then said, dryly, “Fine. But the role play doesn’t work unless you switch the roles.”

“Fine. You’re a sleek, sexy detective, you don’t play by nobody’s rules,” Nick informed him. “But you got too deep into the case, went off the rails, now you’ve been caught by a strangely handsome, rough-around-the-edges serial killer.”

“Oh, horrible.”

“They say he works for some big mafioso, real awful guy. Probably gonna torture you.” 

“I’m petrified,” Smoothie said, bored already. 

“He’s real good at getting information out of people, they say. He’ll get inside your head. Might get inside the rest of you, too, if he’s feeling particularly nasty.”

In a flash, Nick had released one of Smoothie’s arms and moved to pin it down again with the crush of his knee. The motion confused the killer at first, but then he heard the distinct sound of a switchblade snapping into position—he would’ve recognized that sound anywhere. Smoothie didn’t even have time to catch his breath before Nick brought the blade of one of his own knives to his jaw and loomed over him dangerously. 

The metal was cold and sharp, and it thrilled him even more than the harsh crush of Nick’s body on top of him. He liked the playful glint in Nick’s eyes, and the sadistic twitch of the hitman’s smile. 

“Tell me,” Nick demanded, trying to put on a more serious voice in an effort to lean into the game. He let the point of the knife press up against the other man’s skin and then let his eyes trail over Smoothie’s body while the killer’s breath sped up excitedly underneath of him. “Tell me why you don’t want anyone to touch you.”

“I can’t,” Smoothie said uncertainly. “I’m a detective, it’s…evidence. Or something.”

The way his tone faltered took Nick out of the whole scenario, and the hitman grimaced. “Jesus, Smoothie, c’mon. Have you even, I dunno, seen an episode of Law and Order?”

“Not really.”

“Do better, babe.”

“Sorry,” Smoothie said, flustered by the edge of the knife. “I’m petrified, I’ve been caught by a frightening murderer. He threatened me with a deadly weapon. By which I mean his penis, and also a knife.”

“Much better,” Nick commented. He shifted to free his other hand, straddling Smoothie’s body to keep his arms pinned down and loving the breathless sigh that left the killer’s lips when he closed one hand around his throat. “You should probably cooperate, detective. Tell me everything I want to know, or they’re gonna find pieces of you scattered across every borough.”

“If I _were_ to reveal confidential evidence, I would tell you that I don’t let anyone touch me that way because it’s—never been any fun,” Smoothie managed through his teeth. He was starting to enjoy himself, even though Nick was being a little bit more careful with the switchblade than necessary. “People turn me into a pity party or a joke or a fetish, once they know. I prefer to keep things simple instead.”

“Mm. How so?”

“Sex isn’t about being touched. It’s about who’s in control,” said Smoothie fondly, devouring Nick with his eyes. “No one can touch me when I’m in control, and if I give that control to someone else, I don’t want them to touch me, either. Just use me. Do what they want and then throw me away like a disposable camera, without any inconvenient questions or conversations.” 

“Is that right?” Nick asked. He shifted his grip on Smoothie’s throat just to feel the killer’s pulse at his fingertips. “You said you’d been around the block, though, seems like someone would’ve gotten through your shell by now.”

“Someone did.”

“Aw. Was it another handsome detective?”

“No. It was you,” said Smoothie, uncertain whether he was playing the game anymore or not. He swallowed hard and couldn’t _stand_ how good that felt with Nick’s hand around his throat and a knife at his jaw. It was enough to make his whole body light up. “Other people have tried. People I didn’t find quite as stimulating as you. But like I said, it’s either been boring or it’s offended me, somehow.”

“You don’t look bored when I touch you.”

“You do it differently,” the killer admitted. 

“Mmm.”

“No one ever… _really_ touches me, once the novelty of my body’s worn off,” said Smoothie. “I’m like a party trick. The charm wears off quickly for most people, once they realize that they can’t jack off something that isn’t there. No fun in trying to solve a broken Rubik’s cube if you know the sides won’t ever match up properly. And it’s not as if I have a nice _personality_ to make up for it.” 

Nick was doing everything he could to maintain the illusion of cruelty, but all he wanted was to toss the knife over his shoulder and then kiss Smoothie until he never said those words again. He settled for something more simple, shifting on top of the other man until his weight was centered over Smoothie’s hips and easing down against him. 

The feeling of Nick straddling him like that was enough to make Smoothie’s breath halt completely. He’d never imagined _this_ before, not even in his most delicious fantasies; he’d never expected to have a conversation quite like this one, especially not with Nick Sax, and he certainly never thought he’d get to feel Nick’s thighs tightening around him like this. Not willingly, at least. The look on Nick’s face was even worth the discomfort of vulnerability—he was staring down at Smoothie with undisguised desire.

“You’re not a broken Rubik’s cube,” the hitman declared gruffly.

“Always have been,” Smoothie told him. His red eye wound itself up in a way that Nick found particularly hideous, but the other man had learned to stop looking at it by now. 

“You’re not,” Nick insisted.

“It happened when I was—young,” Smoothie said, his voice faltering. He felt Nick’s grip on his throat soften. 

“Accident?”

“Initially. Most of it, anyway. I finished the job later, myself.” 

“Jesus Christ.”

“Better to have nothing,” said Smoothie, looking right past Nick and into something dark and unknown. “Rather than leftover _pieces_. Besides, I never missed it. No one could use my body to control me, to try and get close to me. Made me invincible, in a way. An impenetrable fortress.”

“Um,” said Nick. 

He shifted uncomfortably and let go of the other man’s throat, losing the switchblade silently among the pillows. He looked at his hand first, flexed it as if he were getting it ready for a ferocious swing, and then gave Smoothie a rough, awkward pat on the cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a voice that didn’t sound entirely convinced, even though he was trying his best. 

“What are you doing?” Smoothie sneered.

“I’m doing—empathy, or whatever they call it,” Nick insisted. “The thing where I pretend you’re a sympathetic human being instead of a complete fuckin’ sociopath. Sadist. Liar. Child trafficker.”

Smoothie opened his mouth to argue, to blame everything on Blue and deny his own part in it, but then he reconsidered and let out a reluctant grumble of agreement. He shook Nick’s hand away from his cheek and squirmed. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in an attempt to dismiss the issue. “Like I said; now I’m invincible. Cock or no cock, I was still more than capable of getting your attention. Though I’m sure that says more about _you_ than it says about me.”

“Eh,” said Nick with a shrug. “My sexual orientation has always been ‘violence’, not ‘straight’ or ‘gay’ or whatever. I don’t particularly care what you’ve got going on down there, you’re mean enough to make up for it.”

“Match made in hell.”

“No, I’d like to point out that I did _literally_ go to heaven, fuck you very much.”

“Probably because you’re so annoyingly sentimental,” Smoothie pointed out. He freed his hands, since Nick had moved enough to only pin them loosely, and ran both of them up Nick’s thighs. The hitman was painfully heavy, but he was easy to admire from this angle. He looked like an overly-ambitious lion perched on top of a gazelle, Smoothie thought—unsure whether he wanted to play with it or gobble it up. When Smoothie’s palms ghosted over the other man’s hips, he felt Nick rock involuntarily into the touch. 

“You look good like this,” Smoothie noted, as if he were admiring Nick’s body for the first time. He let his hands trail up to feel the rest of Nick’s skin, pushing underneath the hitman’s sweater to enjoy the heat of him. He listened closely to the hungry sound that came out of the other man before going on to say, “I have to admit that I’m starting to enjoy your stupid games. Especially when they end with you in such _compromising_ positions.” 

Nick smirked and rolled his hips against the killer experimentally. He’d never done this before; he was usually the one on the receiving end of rides like this, after all, flat on his back and buried inside someone more competent. He wasn’t totally sure what to do with his pelvis, but judging by the way Smoothie’s body contorted with pleasure underneath of him, he seemed to be doing alright. 

“Speaking of stupid games,” he said, bracing himself against the killer’s chest to grind into him even harder. He heard Smoothie let out a greedy, wheezing groan. “You never named your price.”

“Mff,” Smoothie managed. “How very observant of you. If you’re a cop, you’re legally required to tell me.”

Nick laughed and loomed over him dangerously, working his hips against the other man in a rhythm that he knew Smoothie couldn’t resist. He was getting harder with each passing second, encouraging his growing erection by forcing it firmly between the killer’s legs to make him feel every inch. The flash of need that lit up in Smoothie’s eyes when he felt Nick’s dick stiffening against him was all it took to finish the job. Now the hitman was ready and eager, his cock straining against the confines of his jeans and aching to be touched. 

“It’s not something you should make a habit of,” Smoothie informed him, his voice taking on a cruel, nasty edge, even as his hands clawed insistently at Nick’s belt. “Letting me name a price.”

“Really, now.”

“Really. Suppose I want one of your testicles, or that problematic tongue of yours.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get as much of the tongue as you want, baby, believe me. It’s all yours, as long as it stays attached,” Nick chuckled. 

“Hm. Maybe I want something worse.”

“Quit the teasing and name it.”

Smoothie arched into the other man’s touch, his breath hissing out between his teeth. The sensation of Nick’s body responding so quickly and urgently to his own was more than just tantalizing; it was _everything_ he wanted. It felt like Nick couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t even keep his hips from bucking up against him with ever-increasing desperation. By the time Smoothie’s deft hands undid the hitman’s belt, Nick was already panting with need. Smoothie found the sight of it absolutely hypnotizing. 

He pulled Nick’s belt loose and undid the front of his jeans, his fingers tracing the outline of Nick’s erection longingly. He managed to resist giving it any attention—he wanted something else first. He knotted his fingers into the front of Nick’s sweater to pull him in close, hissing the request into the hitman’s ear. 

“ _Kill_ for me,” he snarled, letting his teeth catch the curve of Nick’s ear to hammer home his point with one nasty bite. “I want to watch you. Want to touch you afterwards, while the blood’s still hot on your hands.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Nick grumbled in disappointment. “Smoothie, c’mon, pick something else.”

“You said I could name my price.”

“I mean, technically I did, yeah, but—”

“—but nothing,” Smoothie snapped. “Hold up your end of the bargain.”

“You can watch me kill Orcus, if we live that long,” Nick suggested. He tried to distract the killer with his hands, moving them enticingly over Smoothie’s chest and down the length of his body.

“No,” Smoothie insisted, ignoring the tempting touches and hardening his gaze. When Nick finally looked down to match it, the killer said pointedly, “No, I want it to be just for _me_.”

Nick scowled in response. He opened his mouth to say something rude, but choked on the words when he felt one of Smoothie’s hands stroke his cock through the denim of his pants. The killer enjoyed watching his resolve crumble, that much was obvious. A smile danced across Smoothie’s face while he watched Nick try and fail to bite back a long, lusty groan. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Nick managed between his gritted teeth, unable to keep his body from responding to each and every touch. It was everything he could do to keep himself steady, now that Smoothie’s fingers were tracing along his shaft. He hated how easy it was for Smoothie to control him with nothing more than a few suggestive touches. Nick could feel his thighs shaking, every muscle in his body fighting against him and seeking to give in to the animal need that Smoothie was working up inside of him. He pushed through the haze of desire to protest once more, “Pick something else, Smoothie, c’mon. Please.”

“Ooh. Say it again?”

“Fuckin’ _please_ ,” Nick spat. 

“Mm, I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” the killer sighed, rewarding him with a little kiss on the jaw and then freeing Nick’s cock from his jeans with one hand. He smirked up at the hitman and stroked him gratefully, admiring the sight of Nick choking with delight on his own breath. A mean, taunting laugh escaped Smoothie’s lips, and then he said, “But no, I don’t think I can accommodate that, tiger. I want what I want. And what I want is to watch you kill.”

Nick regretted the words before they came out of his mouth, and he felt dirty even saying them, but he still growled, “Tell me who, then.”

A disgusting smile wound its way across Smoothie’s face. The killer licked his lips to accentuate it and then said, “We’ll choose someone at a crowded bar, some nameless stranger. Tonight. Easy pickings. I’ll even let you decide which one you want, if you like. My treat.”

“I’d rather not,” Nick muttered. 

“Hm. Prefer to think of it like a hit?” Smoothie asked innocently. “Let me give you all the details? Pay you in cash under the table so that you don’t have to feel responsible?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Perfect,” Smoothie whispered, giving Nick’s cock all the contact his hands could manage and straining closer to breathe in the scent of the hitman’s anxious sweat. He loved the look of cold resignation that settled on Nick’s face. “Mm, don’t act so glum. We’ll have fun with it, Nick. Both of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nick snarled. 

“Still acting sentimental?” 

“Got used to pretending I was _good_ , back when I turned over a new leaf,” the hitman said in his own defense, grunting with shameful pleasure when Smoothie’s skilled fingers started to get more creative with his cock. “Thought I could keep the streak going for a while, but you had to go and drag me back. Feels like Easter all over again.”

“Poor thing. What a stupid moral conundrum. You really ought to just give in,” Smoothie suggested softly, squeezing Nick’s cock and delighting in the defeated groan that Nick let out. “It would be so easy to put all those troublesome expectations aside, wouldn’t it? So easy to let _me_ do the thinking for both of us. To let me make all of those pesky ethical decisions. I only want to _own_ you, Nick, that’s all. I can take all of that stress off your shoulders, replace it with something a little bit more…satisfying.” 

He gave Nick’s cock a teasing tug to emphasize the last word, and Nick hated how amazing that felt. The killer’s honeyed words were just as enticing as the sensation of his hands; Nick didn’t want to give in so easily, but he was losing his will to resist. After all, Smoothie made a good point. There had never been a hint of guilt in Nick’s heart back when he worked for Blue, back before Amanda and Hailey had come back into his life. He’d never given a shit about murder back in those days. Hell, he’d even enjoyed it—he loved the rush that it gave him. 

“Just imagine,” said Smoothie in a sweet, silky voice when the hitman didn’t respond to him right away. “Would it really be so bad? Don’t you think it would feel nice to be all _mine_?”

Nick didn’t want to give in to it, at least not yet. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, letting himself focus on Smoothie’s hands instead. He was helpless, lost in the satisfaction of each attentive stroke, edging closer and closer to total surrender. 

Finally he gave up and said, “Mmmrggh. Yes.”

“Again. Louder.”

“Fuck you, _yes_ ,” he repeated desperately, sinking into the fact that Smoothie rewarded his obedience with insistent, effective strokes. He wasn’t teasing Nick anymore. Those hands were nothing if not precise, and now each motion was expertly tailored to bring Nick to completion. Every stroke was flawlessly executed, and all the while Smoothie smiled wickedly up at him. 

“Say it,” the killer ordered, his voice still sickly sweet. “Say that you’re mine, that you belong to me.”

“Fine, I’m—yours,” Nick said through gritted teeth. There was no arguing with it, not with the evidence stacking up in front of him. Or, rather, underneath him. 

“You’ll give up your little moral conundrums, from now on,” Smoothie told him. He made sure that Nick couldn’t protest; he stroked the hitman’s cock even faster and felt Nick cling to him, his hips rocking rhythmically into every touch that Smoothie offered. The killer went on, “You’ll be nice and obedient for me, won't you? You’ll remember who’s in control?” 

“You’re in control,” Nick managed. His voice was starting to weaken as he approached the crest of his orgasm. 

“That’s right. _Very_ good,” Smoothie sighed, obviously pleased with Nick’s cooperation. He bit down into his lower lip to stifle a triumphant laugh when Nick’s breath sped up, loving the look of complete submission written across the hitman’s rugged face. Nick’s whole body was taut and tense, quickly reaching its limit. Smoothie let his voice drop down to a whisper to say, “Almost there? Good boy, Nick, such a good boy. When I say bark, you say—?”

“Woof,” Nick offered up immediately, clutching at the killer’s body in absolute desperation. “Woof, I say woof, I say wwww _what the fuck are you doing_?” 

He made a sound that he didn’t even understand when one of Smoothie’s hands tightened cruelly around the root of his cock, cinching snugly enough to cut off the cresting sensation of his orgasm. Nick let out a ferocious snarl of protest, but it was too late; Smoothie was grinning up at him with a cold, cruel smile, his grip inescapable and his hands every bit as vicious as the laugh that escaped his lips. 

He reveled in the groan of frustration that Nick let out. It sounded completely pitiful. Smoothie had expected some sort of physical retaliation; a hand around his throat, a smack to the face, maybe even a broken rib or two, but Nick only slumped miserably against him and gave forth another ugly, keening sound. 

“Fuck you, asshole,” the hitman said throatily when he finally found his voice. 

“Ohh, shhhhh, shh,” Smoothie hissed into his ear. The killer couldn’t stop laughing, even though he hushed Nick as gently as ever and released the hitman’s cock to rub his back in a soothing, possessive gesture. “Now, now, don’t be upset. You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that, did you? We still have so much more to do.”

“The fuck do we have to do?” Nick snapped.

“Mm. Skullfucking,” said Smoothie decisively. 

“Right,” Nick grumbled, still visibly irritated, trying to shake Smoothie’s doting hands off of his back. “Not sure I’m interested, honestly, since you’re apparently only in the mood to torture me.” 

“Oh, please. One round of orgasm denial hardly qualifies as _torture_ , especially for someone who gets off at the drop of a hat like you do,” Smoothie scoffed. 

Nick was still feeling spiteful about it. He didn’t want to sink into the sensation of the killer’s body against him, but Smoothie knew all too well how to control him by now. His hips moved against Nick’s lingering erection, catching the hitman’s interest again before Nick could gather up the willpower to resist him. Smoothie didn’t even have to snap any orders this time; Nick went along with it instinctively, grumbling a low, grateful sound when he felt those slender hips easing him back into the exact rhythm Smoothie wanted. 

Part of him hated the fact that he responded so willingly, but he’d given up on guilting himself for it by now. All he knew was that he needed the release that Smoothie’s body offered. He was more than happy to let the killer pull him into another of those cruel, toothy kisses, and he’d stopped questioning the fact that he loved how Smoothie’s teeth ruthlessly caught his bottom lip and sank in. The pain only excited him more, and at this point Nick wasn’t sure whether it was because it enhanced the pleasure or whether it had more to do with the fact that Smoothie clearly enjoyed hurting him. He could tell by the way Smoothie’s lips curled into an irresistible smile. 

The killer tugged him closer insistently. Nick had never looked quite this desperate before, and he’d never felt so unquestionably willing; Smoothie found it more charming than he’d expected. The hitman looked like he’d finally been subdued. He didn’t offer up a hint of resistance when Smoothie’s teeth raked viciously up to his ear, not even when Smoothie commanded, “Strip and lay down.”

Nick didn’t hesitate. He tore the sweater off over his head without a second thought and rolled off of Smoothie to tear his pants and boxers away. Smoothie’s soft, approving laughter actually brought a smile to Nick’s face this time, which was a little bit worrisome. After all, he’d heard that same sound the night he died—he could still remember Smoothie’s mocking laughter ringing in his ears during Sonny Shine’s Easter special, right when Hailey took the stage. 

Smoothie was on him again in an instant, before Nick even had time to start hating himself. He pushed his hands through Nick’s unkempt hair, reveling in the fact that the hitman had obeyed him without question, and then said, “I want to hear you _beg_ for it.”

“Please,” Nick muttered under his breath. 

“ _Louder_.”

“Jesus Christ,” the hitman growled, grabbing Smoothie hard by the belt and grinding up against him, desperate for whatever friction he could get. “Fucking _please_. Look, I’m begging, I’m doing whatever the hell you want, Smoothie, I already said woof for Christ’s sake, what the fuck more do you—”

“—Shh. Good,” Smoothie praised him, grazing Nick’s lips with a handful of fingertips and smiling down at him. “Very good. Are you broken yet, Nick?”

Nick hated the question, but he hated the answer even more. His voice faltered when he admitted it; “Yes.”

“And are you mine, Nick?” 

“Fuck you, _yes_.”

“Perfect,” Smoothie sighed, more pleased with himself than he’d ever been in his life. He leaned in and let Nick kiss him as if nothing else mattered, as if he were the only thing Nick had ever wanted, the only thing he’d ever touched. He could taste cheap bourbon on Nick’s breath between each of the eager sounds that escaped the hitman’s mouth. Smoothie wasn’t usually a fan of cheap bourbon, but it tasted spectacular on Nick’s tongue. 

He pushed the hitman down into the sheets to break the kiss and said, “Now, listen closely. There _will_ be a quiz.” 

“I’m real fuckin’ bad at those,” Nick said hoarsely.

“Mm. I think you’ll pass this one, if you pay close attention,” Smoothie purred into his ear, raking his hands down the front of Nick’s body and loving the other man’s excited response. “First things first—I want it rough, but I don’t want you to forget who’s in charge. Is that clear?”

“Clear as a motherfuckin’ bell.”

“Hands stay on the back of my head. Nowhere else. You can pull my hair, that’s allowed.” 

Nick made an affirmative sound, but he was too busy visualizing it to try to formulate a sentence. He only licked his lips and nodded, lost in the mental image of Smoothie choking on his cock.

“Now, this last part is the most important. I’m going to let you cum this time,” Smoothie said sternly into his ear, his tone so clean and straightforward that it made Nick’s skin crawl in the most sick, satisfying way. “But only if you hold out long enough to please me.”

“And if I, uh—just speaking in pure hypotheticals, obviously, since I’m definitely not going to cum the second my dick’s in your mouth,” Nick started, sweating anxiously. “But if I did then, um. Y’know. What then?”

“Hm.” Smoothie smiled dangerously. “Who knows? I’m sure I’ll find a way to express my dissatisfaction while I’m down there.”

The vicious way that he snapped his jaws together made it clear what he meant. Nick wondered briefly how difficult it would be to throw Smoothie off and flee the hotel room, but that was out of the question by now; after all, he wanted it badly enough to risk anything, even a bite to the dick. He knew that Smoothie was enough of a monster to hurt him, that much was obvious, but Smoothie was also selfish enough to keep his favorite part of Nick’s anatomy intact and functioning. The chance of him biting any part of it off was slim, at least for now. 

“You said rough?” Nick managed, trying to take his mind off of what would happen if he got on the wrong side of Smoothie’s sex drive. “Earlier you said I could do it nicely. I’d rather try nicely.”

“Uggh,” the killer muttered disgustedly. “Fine.”

“Yeah?”

Smoothie scowled, then grumbled, “I’ll get bored, but _whatever_. You’ll make it up to me tonight. You’ve been so cooperative, after all, that I suppose it’s only fair to indulge you.” 

Nick let out an appreciative little noise and tried to kiss him, but Smoothie pushed him away and forced the hitman’s hands where he wanted them, at the back of his skull. 

Nick felt his breath speeding up while he ran his fingers through Smoothie’s hair and forced the killer’s head down against his skin. He swallowed nervously, trying to steel himself when he felt the other man’s lips against him—holding out wasn’t exactly Nick’s strong suit, and he wasn’t feeling confident about it. He could withstand torture; that was easy enough. He could take a beating, too, and even a bullet if it didn’t hit anything vital, but Smoothie was much harder to resist. Even the sensation of his tongue trailing down Nick’s body was enough to stir up that familiar orgasmic ache between Nick’s legs. 

Nick couldn’t even look at him. He knew that the sight of Smoothie taking him in would be too much to stand, enough to make him blow his load almost immediately. Instead he shut his eyes tight and tried to think about anything else, anything that might delay the inevitable explosion of pleasure. 

He forced Smoothie’s head down to his cock and bit back a string of curses when he felt the killer’s lips meet the thicket of hair around his shaft. Every part of him was lighting up below the belt, and the heat of Smoothie’s breath against him was almost too much to stand. It felt unfairly good. 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ bite me,” Nick grumbled hatefully under his breath. His hips twinged involuntarily when Smoothie laughed and teased his cock with one quick swipe of his tongue. 

“Only if you disappoint,” the killer said.

“Smoothie—”

“Shhh, shh. Relax,” Smoothie insisted, digging his fingers into the arch of Nick’s hips to control the hitman more easily. He liked the spike of fear that he could hear in Nick’s voice, and the little tremors running through Nick’s powerful thighs. It didn’t really matter to Smoothie whether Nick came quickly or not; all he wanted was the fear, the sense of total control. He drank it in and loved every second of it. The only thing he loved more was the feeling of Nick’s fingers tightening against the back of his skull, guiding him to the head of the hitman’s impressive cock. 

Smoothie’s mouth opened for it eagerly, and Nick clutched at the back of his head to push him down. The hitman groaned a collection of absolutely blasphemous and almost incoherent words when he felt Smoothie’s lips slide down his shaft. The slick, satisfying warmth of the killer’s mouth was everything Nick wanted. He tightened his grip and pushed deeper, forcing his length into the other man, and found himself shocked into submission when he felt Smoothie swallow him down to the root. The deep-throat was more than Nick had been expecting, and he almost blacked out when he felt it. 

“Jesus, Mary, and motherfucking Joseph,” Nick choked out, clawing at Smoothie’s skull hard enough to nearly draw blood. The sensation was unlike anything he’d felt before, and he knew he couldn’t handle it, not when he was already so close to bursting. “Holy shit, s-stop, I’m gonna—”

He was more than grateful when Smoothie’s lips slid back to the head of his dick, teasing him for a moment before releasing him. The killer smirked up at him and winked his eerie red eye. 

“Not going to last, are you?” he purred. He dug his nails cruelly into Nick’s hips, his body coiling up like a cat ready to pounce on a hapless mouse. “Such a shame. I’ll have to train you better, hm?”

“Jesus Christ,” Nick managed. 

“We’ll save the _real_ skullfucking for another time, then,” Smoothie sighed, sounding only a little bit disappointed. The panicked expression on Nick’s face and the uncontrollable shivering of his thighs made up for it, after all. He took in the sight with the same amount of pride and satisfaction he’d gotten from taking the hitman’s cock down his throat. 

He brought one of his hands to Nick’s dick and stroked it lazily, then went ahead and slid the tip into his mouth again. Nick let out another desperate sound, raking his nails through the killer’s hair appreciatively. 

“God, you’re _good_ at that,” he grumbled between his teeth. He closed his eyes and tried to withstand it, even though the silky sensation of Smoothie’s tongue was driving him quickly past the point of no return. It was almost as hard to resist as the deep-throating, given the skillful way the killer’s tongue worked against the underside of his cock. Nick ground his teeth together and did everything he could to hold out a little longer, but it didn’t last—he felt the climax coming when Smoothie’s tongue slid rhythmically over the head of his dick in one long, seemingly endless stroke. 

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Nick gasped, unable to keep his hips from thrusting up into the warmth of Smoothie’s mouth. “God, yes, _Smoothie—_ ”

In an instant he felt those lips slip away, only to be replaced by the sensation of Smoothie’s hand stroking the full length of him even faster, even more intently. Nick rode the wave of pleasure all the way to the peak, letting out an ecstatic laugh which morphed into a confused, strangled howl of pain when he felt Smoothie’s teeth dig nastily into his inner thigh. 

“You _fucking_ asshole—!” Nick yelled hoarsely as he came, stunned by the combination of ecstasy and the sharp, terrible pain of Smoothie’s teeth. It was nothing short of incredible; he hated it on principle, but he’d never felt such a deep sense of release before in his life. He looked down to catch Smoothie’s eyes, which were still locked in a mean-spirited snarl, while the shocks of the orgasm ran through him. The sight of Smoothie’s malicious expression only thrilled Nick more. He found it _almost_ as exciting as the sight of his own cum splattered across the killer’s cheek and seeping between Smoothie’s fingers as he finished Nick off. 

When Smoothie’s jaws finally released, they left behind a hideous mark. He’d broken the skin a little, Nick noticed, and the whole bruised area was already starting to swell. Nick could see the harsh crescent marks of the killer’s teeth etched into his skin, and he secretly loved the sight of that—he wanted a few more of those marks, maybe on his neck, or maybe a matching one on his other thigh. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Nick breathed helplessly, his tone completely blissed out and not at all matching his words. “Fucking bastard.”

Smoothie only smirked and said, “I warned you.”

“That was—” Nick started uncertainly. The gears were whirring too quickly in his brain to formulate any sentence other than, “—Fuck you.”

“Hm. You will,” Smoothie said patiently. “Tonight.”

He pushed himself up in one lazy, languid motion and made a show of licking the red stains from his teeth. Nick watched his eyes flutter shut as he savored the taste. 

“Delicious,” said Smoothie, wiping the remnants of Nick’s cum from his cheek with the back of one hand and then licking that away, too. “Mm. You always are, aren’t you? The first time I got a mouthful of you, I knew I had to _have_ you.”

Nick remembered it like it was yesterday; he would never forget the sight of Smoothie’s tongue swiping the blood off of his lips just before Nick and Happy made their escape from the hospital, or the hunger that lit up in the killer’s eyes when Nick cracked a man’s skull open right in front of him, just for the sake of impressing him. 

“C’mere and have me, then,” Nick growled, grabbing Smoothie’s narrow shoulders and pulling him into an inescapable bear hug. He heard the killer let out an irritated noise, but Smoothie didn’t even squirm in his arms. Instead he melted into the embrace like a pad of warm butter. 

He loved the flushed heat of Nick’s skin and the way the hitman’s body relaxed in the wake of the climax. It gave off the impression that Nick had finally been conquered, and there was nothing Smoothie wanted more than that. 

When Nick buried his face into the killer’s hair and squeezed him tighter, it felt tender enough to make Smoothie a little bit uncomfortable—he wasn’t used to intimacy like this, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he even enjoyed it. Strapping Nick to a spanking bench and forcing him to take it from behind was one thing, but letting Nick _hug_ him like this was different. It stirred up something dark and grim inside of Smoothie; something that made him want to push Nick away, or maybe pull him close enough to choke and smother. He wasn’t entirely sure which was worse. 

He let Nick hold him for far longer than he’d expected to. Smoothie couldn’t remember a time that he’d let anyone handle him like this. Every other rendezvous in his life had been quick and clean, each with its own abrupt end—some of them more bloody than others. Even the handful of people in the past who had tried to get close to him hadn’t gotten this far; certainly not far enough to lock their arms around him like this, or to paw affectionately at his hair with their hands, the way that Nick was doing now. Then again, none of _those_ people had been anything like Nick Sax. He was a category unto himself.

Finally, when Smoothie wasn’t certain that he could take another second of the long, intimate silence, he said, “We should get back to work.”

“Nahhh, we should take a nap,” Nick said definitively. 

“It’s barely even lunchtime.”

“Call it a siesta, or whatever the fuck.”

“Pfft. _Qué cabrón_ ,” Smoothie threw out. 

Nick furrowed his brows, and would have done a double-take if the position of his chin on Smoothie’s head had allowed for it. Instead he narrowed his eyes and stared at the wall, then said, “Did you just Spanish at me? I didn’t even know you could Spanish.”

Smoothie rolled his eyes, settled in against Nick even closer, and murmured, “I have many talents. Not all of them are related to murder and blowjobs.”

“Teach me a nasty word in Spanish.”

“No.”

“C’mon, just one.”

“Nick.”

“Tell me how to say _motherfucker_ , at least.”

Smoothie thought about it for a minute, pretending to mull it over, and then said, “Fine, we’ll take a nap. Might as well get some shuteye, since you have such a long night ahead of you.”

“Smoothie,” Nick complained. “C’mon, just one time, say _motherfucker_.”

“Hm. _Te quiero_ , Nick,” Smoothie said. He let out a satisfied little huff of air to indicate that he was done talking. “Go to sleep.” 

Nick accepted that as an answer, because he didn’t know any better, and closed his eyes with a smug smile settling across his face. “Knew I’d wear you down eventually.”

“Yes,” Smoothie admitted, mostly to himself, feeling more than a little bit doomed. “I guess you did.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware, someone does call Nick Sax a "fag" in this chapter (but does not get away with it)

Neither of them had set an alarm, so Nick didn’t crack his eyes open until the late afternoon. He was groggy and bleary-eyed, but he felt well-rested for once in his life. Smoothie was suspiciously absent from his arms, and he could hear the shower running in the hotel bathroom.

Nick thought about joining him, but he wasn’t brave enough to risk it—Smoothie liked his alone time, for one thing, and Smoothie’s track record with showers indicated that he probably only wanted to share one of the _golden_ variety. 

He stretched and grumbled, sitting up from the bed and scratching at the ugly bruise on his inner thigh. It was bad enough to make him wince, and he absolutely wanted another one, as weird as it felt to admit it. 

He looked up eagerly when he heard the shower stop, and Smoothie made his appearance a few minutes later with a towel wrapped modestly around his waist. Nick thought about tearing it off and throwing him onto the bed again immediately, but he managed to resist. 

Smoothie greeted him with a nonchalant little sound, pointed to the shower, and said, “Your turn.”

“I’m probably good.”

“You literally reek,” Smoothie informed him. 

“Nah, it’s—musk, or whatever. People are into that. You’re obviously into that.”

“Hm. Nevertheless, I’d appreciate it if you reeked _slightly_ less.”

Nick flipped him the bird while his back was turned, but complied anyway. After all, Smoothie had a point; Nick could still feel the remnants of cum stuck to his skin and the hair of his thighs, and it wouldn’t hurt to get rid of that, at least. 

He kept the shower quick, barely bothering to scrub. Nick preferred baths, anyway. He tried to comb his hair a little bit with his fingers before leaving the bathroom, thinking that maybe Smoothie would appreciate it if he looked less ragged. 

By the time Nick exited the bathroom, Smoothie was already fully dressed and delicately parting his hair with a rat tail comb in front of the mirror. 

“Always _primping_ , aren’t you,” Nick observed. 

“Better than looking like you’re trying to sell dimebags on the street corner, like _someone_ I know,” Smoothie shot back immediately, his eyes flashing over to Nick. They lingered gratefully on the hitman’s nude body while Nick scrubbed at his hair with a towel. Finally Smoothie said, “Get dressed, we ought to head to the Village. I assume Le Dic will part with a handgun without too much of a fuss? Or should I go and pick up my favorite apron?”

“The fuck? You’re not gonna hurt Le Dick,” Nick insisted with a pointed frown. “He’s a friend of mine. Friends are off-limits.”

“Hm.”

“Nah, don’t say _hm_. I wanna hear you agree.”

Smoothie narrowed his eyes and scowled, then looked back into the mirror and picked gingerly at his hair. “Fine. Off-limits.”

“Damn right,” Nick said, digging through his things to find a fresh pair of boxers and tugging them on, then searching the room for his pants and sweater. He got dressed and then snatched the comb from Smoothie’s hands to run it halfheartedly through his hair. He expected a sneer in response, at the very least, but Smoothie only stared at him hungrily in the mirror with cold, mismatched eyes. Nick gave the comb back when he was finished and planted one rough, obnoxious kiss on the side of Smoothie’s neck. 

“C’mon, you goddamn narcissist, let’s get going,” he said into the killer’s ear, running his hands over Smoothie’s slim shoulders and squeezing them. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely game to lay around and admire your pretty little reflection all day long, but we’ve got a literal god to kill.” 

That brought a wicked smile to Smoothie’s face—Nick knew how much the killer loved a challenge, and hunting Orcus was arguably the greatest challenge of them all. Smoothie reached back to grab the thick knit of Nick’s sweater and tugged him into a commanding kiss just for the sake of feeling Nick’s grip on his shoulders tighten with need. 

“Mff,” Smoothie murmured, breaking away. “No time to waste.” 

He went to fetch his jacket from the closet, shrugged it on, and then slipped out the door without bothering to look over his shoulder or motion for Nick to follow. It was a given, at this point; something to be expected, like a stray dog following him home after being given a handful of table scraps. Nick didn’t question it. He threw on his coat and scarf and went after the killer without a second thought, swaggering off down the hallway at Smoothie’s heels. 

Nick couldn’t keep his arms from winding around the killer in the elevator on the way back to the lobby, couldn’t even resist pulling Smoothie in tight against his chest to kiss the side of his neck. Smoothie tolerated it with a wry smile and didn’t push Nick away until the doors slid open. He dragged Nick into the lobby by the scarf with one playful little tug. 

“Haven’t seen Le Dick in a while,” Nick remarked when they made it out of the hotel, slipping one arm around Smoothie’s waist, enjoying the sensation of casual contact with another human being. “Bet you haven’t, either, huh?” 

“Not in _quite_ some time,” Smoothie said with a little sneer. “I tend to keep more refined company.” 

“Ohhh, I see how it is, Mister Hoity-Toity.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Not too good for _my_ company though,” Nick noted. “Wonder what I did to earn the exception.” 

“Murder.” 

“Fair point,” said the hitman. “Wanna take a taxi? Cuddle up in the backseat?” 

“No,” said Smoothie. “I like a long walk.” 

“No wonder you’ve got such a nice ass.” 

“No wonder _you’ve_ had so many heart attacks.” 

Nick couldn’t deny that.

It was a long walk to Le Dic’s lair, which was an old, retrofitted industrial laundromat just off of Hudson Street. Nick already knew the way to the hidden high-stakes poker game in the back where Le Dic spent the majority of his time. They’d been acquainted for years, after all, and the Cajun was known for his reliability as much as his idiot snakeskin pants. Nick led the way, sliding his arm from Smoothie’s waist once they were inside and grabbing him by the wrist to lead him deeper into the laundromat in between the countless racks of garment bags and washing machines. He paused outside the door to the hidden back room where Le Dic hosted his poker tournaments and met his clients, then ran his hand awkwardly up Smoothie’s arm and cast him an apologetic little look. 

“It’s been a long time since I saw him, like I said,” Nick said with a little shrug. “Look, I’m good friends with the guy. He doesn’t even know I’m alive. Don’t take it the wrong way, but I’d, uh. I wouldn’t mind explaining one thing to him at a time, if you get my drift.” 

“Hm. Telling me to wait in the car, are you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Just asking for five minutes to acclimate him first, let him get over the shock, y’know, whatever. Before I have to explain the whole, uh. Heteroflexible thing?” 

“Hmphfff.” 

“Not that it’s an issue,” Nick said hastily. He could already see the scowl forming on Smoothie’s face, and he moved in closer to pacify the killer with a handful of rough touches and a nip on the neck. “Just wanna say hello to him first, that’s all. Like you did with Orcus, right? Easier for me to talk to him alone, just for a little while. You’re sharp, you get the logic.” 

Smoothie didn’t look like he approved, but he rapped his fingers against Nick’s chest and then slid them down to the front of the hitman’s belt, giving him a raunchy little tug to bring him closer. He craned his neck to reach Nick’s ear with his lips and said, “Five minutes. That’s all.” 

“Sure, baby,” Nick rumbled agreeably. Smoothie’s touch was more than convincing—every fiber of Nick’s body leaned into it. “Five minutes, then come join me at the poker table. I’ll even let you sit on my lap if you promise to be good, how about that?” 

Smoothie made a disgusted noise, but the satisfied gleam in his eyes told a different story. He was looking up at Nick with pointed interest, clearly imagining something unfit for polite company, even though it had only been a few hours since their last little tryst. He let his insistent, impatient fingers tighten around Nick’s belt buckle. 

“Keep doing _that_ and we’re gonna need to postpone this little errand, though,” Nick informed him. “Might have to find a dark corner somewhere and make you put those pretty lips to work first, give you some up-front incentive to play nice.” 

“Mm. I always _did_ enjoy getting paid in advance,” Smoothie said, clearly amused. The way he pressed his teeth longingly into his bottom lip stirred something criminal up in Nick’s body, something that the hitman was loath to even try to resist. Nick let his hands trail greedily up and down Smoothie’s sides underneath his clean, chic tailored coat and wondered briefly what the fuck someone with such good taste could see in him. 

“You’re hard to say no to, you know that, right?” Nick admitted, trying to stave off the stirring sensation down below his belt.

“Ohh, I know, it’s true,” Smoothie told him with a deadly smirk. “I make everything so very _hard_ for you, don’t I, Nick?” 

“One more word and I’m gonna have to fuck your lights out right up against the door,” Nick managed. He backed up the statement by pushing Smoothie into the wall forcefully, his grip on the killer’s waist tightening without mercy while he lowered his voice to a growl. “That what you want, you pretty little freak? Sure beats knocking, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm.” Smoothie brushed his lips up against the hitman’s chin, his grin widening when he heard a deep, frustrated sound come out of the other man. He locked his mismatched eyes onto Nick’s own, feeling for the doorknob with one hand and then turning it. He cracked the door open with a sadistic little wink and said, “See you in five minutes, _el tigre_.” 

“God, I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you tonight,” Nick muttered under his breath. He couldn’t resist shoving the killer’s body even harder up against the wall, couldn’t keep from kissing him so fiercely that it felt like a declaration of war. He felt Smoothie moan into his mouth more than he heard it. The combination of sound and sensation drove him wild, and it took every ounce of his willpower to break away. He couldn’t even bring himself to end it all at once; instead he bared his teeth against Smoothie’s lips in a nasty grimace, gave himself one long, lingering moment to appreciate how the killer’s lithe body tensed up in his arms, and then shoved Smoothie roughly out of the way of the door. 

Once he had escaped the killer’s clutches, slammed the door shut behind him, and cooled off the beginnings of an erection, Nick turned his attention to Le Dic’s poker room. It was big and empty, dimly lit except for the fluorescent lights over the center table. Le Dic had company already—more company than usual. Nick wasn’t used to seeing the table so packed. He counted six players and three hookers, two of whom were draped across the skinny, instantly-recognizable body of Le Dic. 

There was a lot of laughter coming from the table, and a lot of hooting and hollering which ceased instantly when Nick approached. Nine pairs of eyes swiveled immediately to look at him as he made his way across the room in a slow, easy swagger. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my old pal Le Dick, right where I left him. Already replaced me with a new flock of friends, is that right?” Nick barked out as he drew closer. He heard the clatter of cards and chips falling to the table. Once he was close enough to see Le Dic’s face, he watched the lit Cuban cigar fall out of the arms dealer’s mouth when Le Dic’s jaw fell slack in disbelief. 

“ _Nicky_?” Le Dic demanded, standing up immediately, his chair squeaking sharply against the concrete floor. “Sweet home fuckin’ Alabama, is it really you?”

“Thought you were Cajun.”

“It’s a fuckin’—expression,” Le Dic stammered, moving one of the hookers out of his way with one short, ungentlemanly gesture and practically running to close the distance between them. 

Nick hadn’t been expecting a hug, but Le Dic grabbed him and gave him one anyways, despite the hitman’s distinct grumble of protest. The arms dealer clapped him hard on the back and gave him one long squeeze around the shoulders, like a rattlesnake trying to put down a rat. Even though Nick hated every second of it, it still felt nice to know that Le Dic had missed him enough to greet him with such a friendly gesture. Nick didn’t have many friends, but Le Dic had always appreciated him more than most people did.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Nicky! Shit, I thought you were dead!” Le Dic exclaimed, pushing Nick back to arm’s length but keeping his hands on the hitman’s shoulders. He scanned Nick up and down, wild-eyed, in complete disbelief. “How the hell are you breathing? You went down on live TV!”

“Ah, c’mon, Le Dick, you know I’m immune to bullets,” Nick said, brushing it off. 

“Where’ve you been, then, huh? Just turned tail and left me thinkin’ you were dead as a doornail—what am I to you, pocket change?” Le Dic scolded. 

The dealer’s face was starting to twist into a frown, and Nick tried to head it off at the pass.He gave the other man an easy grin and pushed Le Dic’s hands from his shoulders before saying, “Aw, come on, you know how it is in the business. Had to lay low for a while. Still laying low, in fact, so maybe don’t go flapping your mouth about the whole tender reunion we’re apparently having right now. What’s with that, anyway? Look at you, you’re a popular guy, aren’t you? Probably didn’t even miss me. Friends for days.”

Le Dic cast a halfhearted glance over his shoulder at the poker table and snorted, then pointed emphatically at Nick. “I mean, sure, but they ain’t you, Sax. _God_ , I’m glad you ain’t in the ground. Whose ass am I supposed to whip at Texas holdem with you gone, huh?”

“Right, right,” Nick said. He realized that he wasn’t _exactly_ certain how to calculate how many minutes had already passed, so he hurried his words. “Listen, Le Dick, buddy, I need an itty-bitty little favor. Maybe a handful of favors. And a bit of, uh, discretion, maybe.”

“Are you shittin’ me? Favors come later,” Le Dic insisted. “First you sit and play, tell me what the fuck you’ve been up to since that stunt you pulled on the TV.”

“We don’t really have the time for that right at this exact second.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Clock’s, uh, ticking,” Nick said awkwardly. He threw an arm around Le Dic’s shoulders to turn the dealer’s eyes away from the door, then leaned in and said, “Look, remember that little tete-a-tete you and I had six months ago, around Easter? The one where you admitted you’d gotten into some messed up sex stuff in the past?”

“I don’t think I like where this is going, Nicky.”

“Right. Sure, but—”

“—Those ain’t the kind of favors I offer anymore, so don’t be gettin’ your hopes up,” said Le Dic, firmly, even though he sounded a little bit flattered.

“That’s a weirdly good segue into what I was about to tell you,” Nick said, surprised at how easily the conversation had gotten there. “Look, I might have gotten myself into a little bit of a, uh…let’s call it a tight spot.”

“What kind of tight spot?”

Nick heard the door creak open threateningly behind them and grumbled, “Ah, balls. Right on cue. _This_ kind of…tight…well, uh, y’know.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation two of Le Dic’s poker buddies leapt to their feet and fled the room, practically tripping over each other in their haste to escape. Le Dic watched them go with a bewildered expression on his face and then strained to look over Nick’s shoulder, turning his head back towards the door. The moment his eyes locked onto Smoothie in the doorway, he sputtered out a few incoherent curses and reached immediately for the holstered gun at his hip. 

“Holy fucking sh—” he started, just before Nick grabbed his hand and twisted it forcefully away from the gun. 

“Let’s go ahead and stay calm,” Nick said in the most casual, easygoing voice he could muster.

Le Dic shook the hitman’s arm off of his shoulders immediately, but couldn’t free his wrist from Nick’s inescapable grip. His eyes flashed from Nick to Smoothie and then back again, full of increasing confusion and abject terror. 

“N-Nicky, you’re in a lot deeper shit than I can help you with, so I’m gonna need you to get right the fuck out of here right the fuck now,” he said hoarsely, trying to yank his wrist out of Nick’s fist one last time. “What the hell are you doin’? Let go. Let _go_ of me, Jesus fucking—”

“Hey, now, relax, relax. We’re all friends here, right?” Nick said loudly, for the benefit of the poker table. He finally cast his eyes over to Smoothie, who hadn’t even entered the room. The killer was perfectly still, silhouetted by the light of the laundromat behind him, staring coldly at Le Dic’s poker table like something out of a horror film. Nick let out a sharp whistle to get Smoothie’s attention, and he was rewarded with a glance and a nasty sneer. “C’mon over here, baby, come meet my poker buddies.”

“What the ever-loving sweet Jesus _fuck_ did you just say?” Le Dic demanded. His voice was trembling, and so was his wrist. Nick could see his fingers dancing anxiously in the air, fidgeting like the last death throes of a mouse in a trap. 

Smoothie peeled himself away from the door and made his way into the room without rushing, taking a moment to scan the poker table with empty, predatory eyes. He finally fixed his gaze on Le Dic when he reached Nick’s side, and then dragged one index finger pointedly down the hitman’s arm from the shoulder to the wrist in a calculated, self-indulgent gesture. 

“I’ve already met some of your poker buddies,” Smoothie said, leaning in closer to slide his hand back up to Nick’s shoulder possessively. “Go ahead and let him go, he wouldn’t dare go for the gun. Not if he wants to keep his trigger finger.”

Nick shrugged and released his grip, then watched Le Dic stagger backwards and sputter in disbelief. The arms dealer put as much distance as he could between himself and Smoothie, backing up all the way to the poker table and running himself right into the edge of it. His eyes flickered toward the back door, the only escape route. His three remaining poker players were shifting uneasily in their seats, looking ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. 

“Nicky,” Le Dic croaked out. “Nicky, I don’t know if you know what the ever-loving fuck you’ve gotten yourself into, but I’ll tell you this much; you’re makin’ a big mistake—”

“Calm the hell down, for cryin’ out loud,” Nick said, raising his hands in a gesture of vague surrender, trying to put Le Dic at ease. “Look, there’s no issue here. Guns down, cards up, alright? Let’s all cool our jets for a minute and talk out this little, y’know, misunderstanding.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Smoothie said delicately. 

“Nick,” said Le Dic with a hearty helping of caution, his fingers still twitching toward his gun. “Nick, _that’s_ Blue’s—”

“—Yeah, yeah, Blue’s hatchet man, Blue’s enforcer, fuckin’ sue me,” Nick sighed. 

“— _Torturer_ ,” Le Dic corrected. 

Another of Le Dic’s poker buddies leapt over the table heels-first and fled the room, and the final two were starting to get nervous, especially since the call girls outnumbered them by now. 

“You need to calm down, you’re scaring the shit outta your friends,” Nick said, pointing one accusatory finger at Le Dic. 

“Me? Are you for real? _He’s_ scaring the shit outta my friends!” Le Dic snapped.

“He’s not even moving!”

“He doesn’t even fuckin’ have to, Sax!”

“C’mon, look,” Nick said reasonably, slipping his arm around Smoothie’s waist and gesturing toward the killer with his free hand. “Look, he’s totally harmless.”

“Harmless! Holy shit, what are you _on_?” Le Dic spluttered. “Nick, he’s—you don’t know the half of it, you don’t _get_ it, he’s—”

“Le Dick, listen. Just listen to me for five minutes, okay? For old times’ sake?” Nick asked. He tried to make his voice as convincing as possible, but Smoothie’s cold, lethal stare probably cancelled that out. 

Still, maybe just for the sake of their friendship, Le Dic shot Nick a wary look and swallowed the knot of terror in his throat. He let both of his hands grip the edge of the poker table, white-knuckled, and then said, “Talk fast, Nicky.”

“You used to work for Blue, I used to work for Blue,” Nick said with an easy shrug. “He used to work for Blue, too. We’re all just a couple of friendly former coworkers sharing a nice, casual little exchange right now, nothing more than that.”

“Nothing more than that? You’ve got your hand halfway down his back pocket, don’t think I ain’t fuckin’ noticed,” Le Dic accused. 

It was true. Nick actually hadn’t noticed it himself; his hand had slipped down of its own accord to feel out the back of Smoothie’s jacket and the sleek, slender hips underneath. Nick thought about offering up a reasonable excuse, but instead he doubled down. He tugged the killer closer and gave him an appreciative little pat on the ass. 

“Can’t help it,” Nick admitted, giving Le Dic an apologetic grimace. “Come on though, what’s the big deal? It’s New York, for Christ’s sake, buck up and be a little more progressive, would ya?”

“Progressive! That’s not what this is about, Sax,” Le Dic said. He paused for a minute, reconsidered, and then went on, “—Though I’ll admit, I’m still a little fuzzy on what’s going on with that. Always thought you were a ladies’ man. Didn’t know you were into…whatever the fuck _that_ is.” 

“Hey, cool it with the insults, jackass.”

“What? Like it ain’t true?”

“I told you to fucking _cool it_ ,” Nick growled. He let the anger creep onto his face and watched everyone at the poker table lean back away from him in a collective cower. “I thought we were friends, Le Dick.” 

“Nick, come on, you know we are.”

“What’s that thing that friends do? Ah, right—Play poker? Have a nice time? Have each other’s backs, all that jazz, etcetera, etcetera?”

“Seriously, Nicky…”

“It would suck ass if we weren’t friends. I was looking forward to playing a few hands with you, Le Dick, but here you are, disappointing me. If I were you, I’d reconsider disappointing me,” Nick said, his tone making it clear that it was a threat. He glanced down at Smoothie and clipped the killer’s chin with his thumb to catch his attention. “Because that would put Smoothie here in a real bad mood. Wouldn’t it, now?”

“Mm. Yes,” Smoothie drawled, more keen on watching Nick stand up to the arms dealer than he was on joining the fray. Seeing Nick threaten a room full of people on his behalf was oddly satisfying.

“See, if you piss _him_ off, then you piss _me_ off, too, and vice versa,” Nick said meaningfully, casting his eyes back toward Le Dic. “I think you know we both got tempers. It’d be the catastrophe of the century, wouldn’t it, Smoothie?”

“Could be,” the killer agreed. 

“And to think, all I wanted was to greet my old buddy. Ah, well. Can’t win ‘em all.”

Smoothie made a soft, satisfied little sound and said, “ _Killing_ them all is a tempting alternative. Hm?”

Le Dic held up his hands in surrender, and Nick could see them trembling like leaves in the wind. The arms dealer tried to wet his lips, which had gone completely dry, and then said, “Okay. Okay. You win, Nicky, alright? S-sit down, both of you, let’s talk favors. Nice and friendly-like.”

Nick flashed the arms dealer a big, good-natured grin. “There, see? How hard was that?”

Le Dic didn’t answer the question. He only fumbled his way around the edge of the poker table, refusing to turn his back on Smoothie for even a second, and then retreated back into his chair with an uneasy look on his face. One of the call girls tried to comfort him, and the other soon followed suit—the third was long gone by now, having slipped away amid all the ruckus. Le Dic’s two remaining poker players were just as unnerved as he was, but they had too much cash on the line to back out now. Only total desperation was a powerful enough motivator to keep anyone at the table, at least with Smoothie prowling around. 

“Have a seat, Nicky,” Le Dic said gravely, picking up his cards and shifting with discomfort in his chair. 

Nick let his hand slip away from Smoothie’s slender hips, then headed for the table. He threw himself into the unoccupied chair directly across from Le Dic and swiped an armful of abandoned chips over to his spot, then said, “Go on and deal me in. Looks like you’re down a few players.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Le Dic said, irritated, as he tossed Nick a fresh hand of cards from the deck. 

Nick had just settled in when he felt Smoothie’s hands creeping over his shoulders. He could see fear lighting up in Le Dic’s eyes at the sight of the killer touching him, especially when Smoothie caught Nick underneath the chin and tipped his face up in one short, demanding gesture. Smoothie’s shock red eye sparkled down at him, and Nick almost got lost in it—almost, but not quite. Instead he reached back to give Smoothie’s tie a nonchalant little tug, playing with the end of it and growling, “What do you say, baby? Play a round or two? I know you like games.”

“Mm, poker isn’t high on my list,” said Smoothie, raking one set of cruel fingers through Nick’s hair and digging his nails in at the back of the hitman’s neck. “But I don’t mind watching.”

Nick loved the sleazy way that Smoothie’s other arm draped over his shoulder, mirroring the motions of one of Le Dic’s call girls. It didn’t just make Nick feel desirable, it made him feel _powerful_ —the fact that Smoothie’s reputation was bad enough to scare everyone in the room shitless sparked up a hint of pride inside of the hitman. It felt nice to have someone so dangerous and renowned for violence on his arm; it was like packing a Colt Python at a gunshow. Nick hadn’t expected to like it as much as he did. He’d never been much for public displays of affection; Amanda had been hard-pressed to get _any_ affection out of him in front of other people, and Merry had never gotten any at all, due to the nature of their affair, but Nick didn't mind the way that Smoothie took the matter into his own hands. It wasn’t as if Nick could deny how good those hands felt, after all. Smoothie touched him like he owned him, like Nick was his prized possession. Nick liked that more than he cared to admit.

“So,” said Le Dic, taking in the sight of Smoothie’s hand ghosting across Nick’s chest with ever-increasing disbelief and disgust. “Wanna give me a quick little run-down of what the hell’s gotten into you, Nicky?”

“Call it a midlife crisis,” said Nick with a wink. 

“Looking like it’s gonna be an end-of-life crisis pretty soon, if you ain’t careful.”

“Meh. Could be. But a little flirting with death never killed nobody.”

“Believe me, you’re flirting with something a lot worse than death,” said Le Dic, trying to avoid even looking at Smoothie just in case he got on the killer’s bad side. “Blue was always good to you, I know that, but you didn’t see the kind of shit he did to the people who crossed him. The kind of shit your little buddy over there used to do.”

“Used to?” Smoothie chuckled, highly amused. 

“C’mon, Le Dick, like _your_ hands are clean,” Nick snorted. “Business is business, right?”

“Not exactly.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Not all business is created equal, Nicky, that’s what capitalism _is_ ,” Le Dic snapped. “You and me, we’re honest hardworking folk. Firearms here, arson there, a little old-fashioned assault and robbery on the weekends. But _that_ _thing_ is a different story.”

He pointed emphatically at Smoothie when he said “ _that thing_ ”, which Nick hated—that made his blood boil a little bit more than he’d been expecting. He flicked a poker chip in Le Dic’s direction, which caught the other man right in the eye. “Knock it off, I said.”

“Aw, fuck you. He’s a psycho. What would you know about it, anyhow? You’ll see.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen.”

“Seen the shit I’ve seen? Watched him pour _rats_ down some poor fucker’s throat?”

“No, but—well.”

“Rats, Nick!” Le Dic spat out. “Buddy of mine skimped Blue out of some petty cash once, and this motherfucker right here stuffed him full of goddamn _rats_. Laughed the whole time. Watched ‘em chew their way out from the inside like it was a goddamn comedy special on Netflix. He thought it was fuckin’ hilarious. Didn’t you, psycho?”

Smoothie was already smiling, reminiscing about how much fun he’d had with that particular job. He couldn’t keep the sadistic grin off of his face, not even for Nick’s sake. He offered up an easy, lackadaisical little shrug and then said, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

“Are you hearing this shit, Sax?”

Nick grumbled, glancing down at his cards. All he had was a pair of tens, and that wasn’t worth much. He scanned the table to see if either of Le Dic’s new friends had shittier poker faces than he did, but he didn’t have any luck. They were as unreadable as every other human being Nick had faced off in Texas holdem before. Nick had forgotten how shitty he was at poker. 

He folded and hoped for better luck on the next hand. He gave up a handful of chips willingly—it wasn’t his money, after all, so the loss didn’t matter. 

“Look, forget the…rats,” Nick muttered. “I need a favor, like I said. I got a little side project going on, and I find myself in need of a sidearm or two.”

“Can’t help you, Sax.”

“Why not?”

“Not gettin’ involved in this, whatever this is.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Le Dic insisted, slapping down a full house and raking in the chips. “You know I’d help you out with it if I could, but I’m the kind of guy who likes to keep his internal organs internal, if you get my drift. You got a big ol’ dealbreaker hangin’ over you right now.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Here’s the thing, Le Dick, I get it. I get where you’re coming from.”

He leaned back into Smoothie’s touch and felt the killer’s fingers tighten into his sweater. When Nick didn’t try to escape the embrace, Le Dic looked at him like he’d just shot a dog. The hitman pulled Smoothie closer by the tie, enjoying the soft noise of approval that Smoothie let out into his ear, and rubbed the black silk thoughtfully between his fingers before saying, “Here’s how it’s gonna be, though—you’re gonna help me out, hombre to hombre. For old time’s sake. You do that, and then we’ll be on our merry way, totally out of your hair. It’ll be like you never saw me.”

“I said no. Go on and fuck off if you want.”

“I hear you. Might wanna change your answer, though.” Nick pulled Smoothie’s tie taut and yanked him forwards, watching Le Dic’s face twist in disgust when the killer let out a filthy little sound in response. “Otherwise I’m gonna let Smoothie here do whatever he’s gotta do to convince you. I’d hate to do that to you, Le Dick. We’re friends.”

“Threats,” Le Dic snarled. “After all these years you come into my place, talk bullshit about our friendship, and all you’ve got for me is threats.”

“C’mon. Nobody wants it to go down like this, especially not me. Think of all those poor rats, Le Dick, just goin’ about their business—you think they _want_ to be shoved up your asshole? I really don’t think they do.”

Le Dic sat back in his chair and shook his head in disbelief. He threw his cards face-down on the table and crossed his arms, giving Nick a scowl which the golden grill on his top row of teeth only made look more sinister. “This is all you do, you know that, Sax? Fuck your friends over.”

“I know, I’m the goddamn worst,” Nick sighed. 

“You’re really gonna pick _him_ over your friends?”

“I can’t stress to you enough how much I need you to not take this the wrong way, pal,” Nick said. “But I don’t see any of my so-called friends lining up to suck my—”

“—Holy shit, stop. Please, for the love of sweet Jesus in heaven, don’t finish that sentence,” Le Dic insisted. One of his poker buddies made a face, and Nick met it with a hard, mean stare. 

“Oh, right, like you’d turn it down?” the hitman snorted, yanking Smoothie by the tie one more time just to see what kind of sound he would make next. It was always a mystery, but it never disappointed—this time it was a stifled little laugh. “C’mon, look at that face.”

“I’ve looked at it, Sax. I’ve looked at it a whole fuckin’ lot, is the thing,” said Le Dic, finally putting all of his cards metaphorically on the table. “I’ve seen this twisted fucker in those wild parties they used to have up at Shine Tower, gettin’ into all sorts of shit I’m too much of a goddamn gentleman to describe, and I think you and I both know that I ain’t no fuckin’ gentleman! Nicky, I’ve watched him do things to people that oughtta be illegal. Hell, I’ve watched him do things to people that _are_ illegal—not just illegal, I’m talking next-level goreporn mutilation shit. The kind of shit you can’t even fathom in that naive little brain of yours.”

“Naive?” Nick growled, offended at the suggestion. He’d never heard that word used to describe him before— _naive_ wasn’t exactly the kind of word anyone would use in reference to a former homicide detective, especially one who’d seen the kind of shit Nick had seen back in his days on the force. 

“Yeah. Naive. Innocent. Dumb. Like a soft woolly little baby lamb, like fuckin’ veal. That’s all he sees when he looks at you, Sax. That’s a goddamn guarantee,” Le Dic told him. There was a more urgent note in his voice than Nick had noticed before, and Le Dic was leaning over the table now as if to emphasize how serious he was. 

There must have been at least a grain of truth to what Le Dic was saying, because Nick felt Smoothie’s body tensing up and his fingers digging in possessively, as if the killer wanted to prevent Nick from paying attention to the words. The distraction didn’t work, though; Nick was too savvy for that. 

“Relax, baby,” Nick growled under his breath to pacify the other man. “Let him say his piece.”

“I’m telling you the god-honest truth,” said Le Dic emphatically. “I know we ain’t the closest peas in the pod or whatever, but I’d never lie to you, Sax. Whatever you’ve seen, whatever he’s told you, whatever the fuck he’s _done_ to you, I can promise you this—there’s something worse comin’ around the corner. You might think he’s all pretty faces and white lies right now, but once he’s done with you he’s gonna chew your goddamn dick off and spit it out into whatever gutter he gets his fuckin’ rats from.”

Any normal man would’ve defended himself, or would’ve at least tried to deny it, but Smoothie only stared coldly across the table with the same blank, aloof expression he’d been wearing for the entirety of Le Dic’s speech. He didn’t even bother to look down at Nick to see the hitman’s reaction. Nick watched his red eye jerk to one side in the socket and flicker there. 

“—Fuck, that’s gross,” Le Dic complained. “C’mon, Nicky. Seriously, look at yourself; you might be a piece of shit, but everyone in this room knows that you deserve better than _this_.”

Nick dropped his poker cards and sat back, wondering whether it was worth trying to justify the situation to Le Dic or whether it would be better to comfort Smoothie, who by now looked like he was itching to tear the arms dealer to pieces. Nick settled for the happy medium of ignoring the whole problem. After all, that was what he’d done in every other relationship, and it was hard to teach an old dog new tricks.

“You’re right, buddy, I know exactly what I deserve,” Nick said, gravely. His friend looked at him hopefully, but Le Dic’s face hardened again when Nick went on to say, “I deserve a Desert Eagle .50 AE and a KelTec PMR-30, but I’ll settle for a Glock if that’s all you’ve got.”

“So that’s it, then? You’re just gonna let it all slide and roll the dice?”

“Always worked for me in the past.”

“No, Nicky, it didn’t.”

“How about this—you give me what I need, I get out of here without any harm to you and yours, and when it all blows up then you can say ‘I told you so’. Easy as pie.”

“Fine,” Le Dic snarled, pulling both of his call girls in closer by the hips, as if to shield himself. “But I _warned_ you. I did my best. And you’d better clear our debt for the guns before that fucker knifes you in your sleep. I’m done giving you shit for free.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They stared each other down, simmering in annoyance, and then Le Dic pushed his girls away and stood up. He started off toward one of his storage rooms, and Nick moved to follow him. Before he did, though, he deposited Smoothie into his vacant seat with a firm push.

“Keep it warm for me,” he muttered while Smoothie cast his eyes disdainfully over the sea of poker chips. “Relax, have a bump of coke or something.”

Smoothie sneered and said nothing. Nick hovered over him awkwardly for a moment, then gave him a weird pat on the back of the head and quickly went to follow Le Dic. 

The storage room was packed with firearms of every imaginable shape and size. Nick couldn’t count the number of ammunition crates. They overflowed from every nook and cranny, stacked on top of one another like the world’s deadliest Jenga tower. Le Dic dug through his stash of weapons until he found the handguns that Nick had asked for, and he proceeded to give them a quick once-over. He threw in some spare ammunition for old times’ sake, even though he was angry that Nick hadn’t listened to him. 

Nick could tell how genuinely upset Le Dic was, and that made him feel like shit—he was used to disappointing friends, family, and lovers, but he tried not to disappoint his arms dealer too often. He examined a few of the assault rifles mounted up on the storage room wall, feigning interest, and then finally said, “Look, uh. I appreciate the, y’know, the concern.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you do, actually.”

“No, I do. Really, I do,” Nick insisted. He was almost starting to feel guilty for hurting Le Dic’s feelings—more guilty than he felt about wanting to fuck someone who got off on skinning people alive. “Look, if I had time to explain all this shit to you, you’d understand.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Le Dic, handing him the Desert Eagle without even looking at him. 

“Ever had one of those, like, lightbulb moments?”

“Like in a cartoon?”

“Yeah. I had one of those lightbulb moments, you could say. About Smoothie. We’re not so different. We’re complementary, more like. He kills people, I kill people, I like long coats, he likes short coats, I’m into guns, he likes to, uh. Work with his hands.”

“Jesus, Nick, I don’t need the fuckin’ _details_.”

“I meant—like—I meant like with the rats,” Nick fumbled. “Didn’t mean, ah. Y’know.”

Le Dic shook his head and said nothing. He examined the other gun and then shoved it without ceremony into the hitman’s hands. 

“Can’t you just be a little bit more—I dunno, understanding? At least try to be, y’know, happy for me? For half a second?” Nick suggested. 

“And why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because I, well—I mean, I…don’t mind him.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t mind him. Smoothie. I mean, yeah, he’s a little bit of an asshole, but he’s not that bad once you get past the professional stuff, Le Dick.”

“You’re foolin’ yourself,” Le Dic said in disbelief, still shaking his head as if he couldn’t be bothered to stop. He ended the conversation with a quick, clean statement: “Two thousand, that’s what you owe me. Don’t let him carve your heart out before you get the chance to pay me back.” 

Nick nodded and let out a snort. “I’m good for it, you know me.” 

“Apparently I don’t.” 

That was all that Le Dic had to say. He brushed past Nick and exited the storage room, and Nick followed behind with his tail between his legs. He tucked the guns into his pockets and felt the grips of both of them. It had been months since he’d appreciated the fine craftsmanship of a handgun, and he realized now just how much he’d missed it. His trigger finger was already itching at the thought of shooting one—he tried not to think about how satisfying it would be to empty a clip into someone, and how much _more_ satisfying it would be to see what kind of reaction that level of overkill would get from Smoothie.

When Nick entered the poker room again and looked up, he saw Smoothie alone at the table. He’d frightened everyone else off, even the call girls, and he was sitting there in silence, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against a stack of poker chips. He didn’t smile when he looked up. 

“Scared ‘em all away, freak?” Le Dic snapped when he approached. 

Smoothie didn’t dignify that with a response. He looked over at Nick instead, and said quietly, “Are we done here?”

Nick didn’t like leaving things on the rocks with Le Dic. He went to collect Smoothie, running one hand roughly through the killer’s hair and then giving his arms dealer one more apologetic glance. In an attempt to patch things up Nick said, “Y’know, think of it like this, Le Dic—now if anyone gives you shit, you’ve got a whole new avenue of threats lined up. Right? You could be the most badass dealer in the tri-state area.”

“I don’t need _his_ help,” Le Dic spat. 

“Never say never, right? What’s the word for when the city’s two most infamous hitmen team up?”

“Worst-case scenario,” said Le Dic.

“Right, power couple,” Nick corrected easily. “Now if anyone crosses you, tell ‘em they’ve gotta deal with the city’s deadliest power couple.”

“Please stop saying that,” Le Dic grumbled.

“ _Power couple_ ,” Smoothie snapped, hitting the consonants and leaning forward threateningly. Nick’s hands moved to his shoulders to restrain him. 

“I think he gets it, baby.”

“Might get it a bit more clearly with a mouthful of rats.”

“Smoothie—”

“—Get the fuck out,” Le Dic insisted, pointing to the door. “And don’t come back, Nick, not with that sicko in tow. No need to send me a goddamn wedding invite, either.”

“I—that’s a _little_ bit far off,” Nick said.

Both Smoothie and Le Dic looked at him as if he’d just said something totally intolerable, and Nick tried to backpedal. “I meant, like, far off from reality, not, like, chronologically! You know, you get it? Jesus Christ.”

“Get fucked,” said Le Dic.

“He’s _about_ to,” Smoothie shot back coolly. He stood up, grabbed Nick by the scarf for emphasis, and then snarled, “Time to go.”

There was no point in arguing, especially not with Smoothie’s mood having taken a turn for the worse and Le Dic’s hand ghosting over the handle of his gun. 

“I’d say it was nice seeing you, but I’ll be honest, it kinda wasn’t,” Nick said bluntly, with another apologetic little grimace. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” Le Dic growled. 

He pointed silently to the door. Smoothie didn’t move; he stayed where he was, staring icily at the arms dealer, until Nick took him by the arm and pulled him away. The killer shook him off and then readjusted his suit jacket haughtily, saying nothing and slipping out the door without waiting for Nick. The hitman lingered in the doorway and cast one last apologetic look towards Le Dic, but he didn’t bother voicing another halfhearted apology—instead he grumbled something rude under his breath and then stole away after Smoothie. 

The killer didn’t even look at him. He moved with purpose, perfectly retracing the winding path that Nick had led him along on the way in. Nick thought about saying something, but couldn’t pin down what to say; he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to apologize for Le Dic’s behavior, apologize for his own failure to rectify the situation, or congratulate Smoothie on being infamous enough to clear an entire poker room with his professional reputation. Finally, just before they reached the door, Smoothie spoke up. His voice was clipped and to the point.

“Guns?”

“Oh. Yeah, guns, right. Just what I asked for, and enough ammo to drop a herd of elephants,” Nick said, glad that the silence had been broken. “So, look, about the rat thing—”

“—What about it?”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Don’t get all defensive.”

“ _Defensive_ ,” Smoothie snorted, with a disgusted little roll of his eyes, pushing through the exit door and out onto the sidewalk again. It was cold, and the wind had picked up. 

“Look, I mean, it’s not like I _really_ give a shit about it,” Nick said in his own defense. “Just seems a little bit dramatic, isn’t it? Probably more trouble than it’s worth?”

Smoothie stopped and fixed him with a long, chilling stare. “Are you telling me how to do my job? I didn’t realize I’d asked for your input.”

“See? Defensive! I just told you not to get all defensive about it, and here you are getting defensive!” Nick scoffed. “I wasn’t even criticizing, just—makin’ casual conversation.”

“You were criticizing.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Nick.”

“I was _barely_ criticizing,” Nick corrected reluctantly, with an exaggerated shrug. “Just seems like you didn’t really _need_ to go _that_ hard for a petty cash debt. Blue put you up to that?”

“Blue trusted my ability to gauge the appropriate response, as he usually did. He didn’t concern himself with micromanagement.”

“So your idea of an _appropriate_ response to petty debt is death by rats.”

“It was six thousand dollars of debt, because he claimed to have _lost_ a set of guns,” Smoothie said, clearly irritated that it was necessary to go into detail. “ _One_ of those guns was found in the hands of one of Fresh Ken’s men, when they hit one of Blue’s warehouses. The arms dealer was playing both sides, and Blue wanted an example to be made of him. To intimidate the others on his payroll.”

“Got it. Mob shit.”

“Mob shit,” Smoothie repeated, more cleanly. 

“Not just rats for the sake of rats.”

“Oh, no, it was absolutely rats for the sake of rats,” Smoothie corrected sternly. “Always wanted to see how many you could get in before they started getting out. _Fourteen_. So many more than I expected!”

“Any idea what made you such a freak?” Nick growled in a voice thick with disapproval. 

“Curiosity, Nick. Science. Ingenuity,” said Smoothie. “I’m a man who believes in _progress_. Pushing the boundaries of my field. I thought you would understand that.”

“I’m tryin’ to, against my better judgment.”

“You do the same thing. Heard that you blew up Blue’s wife and son, that they found one of his hitmen chainsawed to death and the other two shot in the garage, that his guards were all dead,” Smoothie said. “Doesn’t that seem a little bit _dramatic_ , too?” 

Nick stared at him, hating the fact that he was right, trying to figure out whether it was worth trying to claim self-defense. It wasn’t, though, and he knew it. He didn’t have to kill all of Blue’s men that night—he could’ve easily gotten away with killing a handful. But he’d been annoyed and intent on sending a message. 

Finally he grumbled, “The wife and kid weren’t my fault, I thought the bomb was dead.”

“Still brought the bomb.”

“Well. I mean. Yeah.” Nick chewed on his bottom lip and grumbled, then abruptly changed the subject so that he didn’t have to think too hard about having accidentally iced Blue’s wife and kid. “We skipped lunch, figure we oughtta—”

“Order Chinese?”

“Eughh. No. I’m not exactly a fan of it anymore, I had some…undercooked fish once.”

“Most of the Italian restaurants don’t even charge me,” Smoothie offered. “Even with Blue gone. Such a nice family, the Scaramuccis.”

Nick thought about sitting in one of Blue’s old restaurants again, knowing how many of them had secret back rooms for torture and drug dealing. He got distracted thinking about sharing a plate of spaghetti with Smoothie Lady-And-the-Tramp style; kissing and tomato sauce didn’t mix, but the image was still enough to make his mind wander somewhere spicier. 

“I could go for that,” he said finally, unsure whether he was talking about Italian food or whether he was referring to Smoothie in general. 

It was getting late and cold, and Smoothie wasn’t in the mood to walk anywhere, for once. He called a ride with a few quick taps on his phone, and Nick settled into the backseat of a small black hatchback beside him minutes later. The hitman’s arm draped easily over his shoulders—it had come as a surprise how quickly Nick had settled into touching him, and how _often_ Nick touched him. It felt like the hitman hadn’t held anything or anyone in years, and that he wasn’t willing to let go of Smoothie until he’d made up for all that lost time. It was a little bit sad, but also a little bit charming. Smoothie certainly had no intention of complaining about Nick’s need to be attached at the hip. If anything, that only cemented the hold he had over the hitman. Unfortunately for him, it also worked the other way around; every time Nick’s hand rubbed his shoulder affectionately, he found himself a little bit more obsessed with Nick than he’d been before. Smoothie wasn’t sure whether that obsession would plateau into something blissfully satisfying or whether it would reach terminal velocity and result in one or _both_ of them bleeding out. 

Either way, he liked it. 

The late October sky had just started to darken by the time the car dropped them off outside a small but stately building in midtown. It was nicer than the boarded-up restaurant that Smoothie’s torture chamber was hidden in; this one had frescoes on the walls of the Tuscan countryside and fine red leather upholstery on the seats. The tablecloths were actual _cloths_ instead of checkered paper, which was Nick’s idea of what separated a fancy restaurant from a normal one. When the waiter brought bread, there were two different kinds—a light and a dark. Nick tore into both of them without a second thought. 

“So, what was this operation? Weapons, drugs, something like that?” he asked through a mouthful of bread. Smoothie glanced up from the menu.

“Oh, no, this place was just a money laundering front,” he said, flagging down a waiter for a glass of wine. Nick had them bring a bottle. 

“Money laundering. Checks out,” he snorted, looking at the prices. “Blue’s real crime was robbing people blind for a plate of ravioli.”

“I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Both of them were quiet for a while. Nick could barely even read the menu—the names of dishes were in Italian, and the ingredient lists were full of things he didn’t give enough of a shit to pronounce, like _aioli_ and _ceviche_ , so he pretended it was a game of roulette and picked one at random. He finished the basket of bread before Smoothie even had a chance to touch it, then busied himself with looking at the frescoes. 

Finally, once the silence had started to grate on his nerves, he said, “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt your _feelings_ or whatever about the rat thing.”

Smoothie raised his eyebrows and said nothing, then beckoned the waiter back. Nick heard him order something from the menu that he pronounced correctly, right down to the weird accent. He distinctly and deliberately ordered for Nick, too, without bothering to ask what the hitman wanted, before sending the waiter away. When he turned back, he laced his fingers on the table and cocked his head to one side. 

“Is that what you think? That you hurt my feelings?” he asked coolly. 

“You been quiet. Normally I can’t shut you the fuck up,” Nick said. “And you better have ordered me spaghetti, or I’ll be pissed.”

“I didn’t. And you didn’t hurt my _feelings_ ,” the killer said, leaning in, his gaze hardening into a glare. “Only insulted my work. Doesn’t matter, though. You’ll come around. We’ll have a nice evening, broaden some of your horizons.” 

Nick wished he hadn’t eaten all of the bread. He felt sick to his stomach when he remembered the faulty deal he’d struck with Smoothie in the tangle of the bedsheets. It was hardly the first time he’d agreed to kill someone—after all, Nick had made an entire career out of that after he’d been kicked off the force. But it _was_ the first time he’d agreed to kill someone just for the sake of it. In the past he’d only done it when he felt it was necessary, or because Blue had put out a contract. Smoothie clearly didn’t have the same moral compass when it came to murder. 

“Doesn’t have to be tonight,” Nick said, wondering if he could weasel out of it by buying himself more time. Smoothie saw right through it. 

“Mm. No, tonight works, I think,” the killer said. 

“Gonna be such a hassle, though, and Italian food makes me sleepy,” Nick complained, gesturing to the empty basket of bread. “We could just take a night off from all the subterfuge and butchering.”

“That was last night. _And_ the night before.” 

“Which were pretty good nights in my personal opinion, which proves my point.”

“You’re nervous that I’ll ask you to curb stomp some glowing, illustrious Eagle Scout,” Smoothie said, reading his mind. “Which you consider morally reprehensible, as opposed to killing whoever the mob boss tells you to. Or whoever gets in your way.”

“Maybe.”

“You should learn to trust my judgment.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because no one is innocent,” Smoothie said definitely. “And because I make appropriate choices.”

“Really, now.”

“Really.”

“So you’re telling me that I should trust the judgment of the guy who admitted half an hour ago that he stuffed rats into someone just because he was _curious_ about how many would _fit_? That’s what you call an appropriate choice?”

“For the situation.”

“Right, and I ought to let _that_ guy make my decisions. Decisions about who to put bullets in, specifically.”

“Yes.”

“Sounds real fuckin’ sane, but I think I’ll keep that between me and Satan,” Nick snorted. He paused to let the waiter pour him a glass of wine, and pounced on it the instant it was available. It was something terribly dry, but he didn’t even care. Any alcohol was better than none. After smacking his lips and wrinkling his nose a little at the bitterness, he said, “A deal’s a deal, but that’s it. Enjoy the power trip while it lasts. You won’t get another.”

“I will,” Smoothie sighed, watching him drink with a fond little smile. “You’ll learn, Nick. It’ll take time, but you’ll learn.”

Nick might have argued, but the waiter brought him a slab of angel-hair pasta topped with a delicious-looking white sauce, shrimp, and scallops, with a side of risotto and hearty vegetable soup. Everything smelled mouth-watering. Steam was still drifting up from the soup, but that didn’t stop Nick from starting in on it. It tasted good enough to make up for the burning heat on his tongue. He washed it down with wine, fully ignoring the pitcher of water that sat on Smoothie’s side of the table. By the time he’d finished stuffing himself with food, he was already starting to feel slightly guilty about doubting all of Smoothie’s decisions—if nothing else, the man at least had good taste in pasta and wine. 

Nick grumbled something about a dessert menu, which made Smoothie roll his eyes. 

“Allergies,” he said by way of explanation.

“To tiramisu?”

“There’s _sugar_ in it.”

“There’s sugar in wine.”

“Not _refined_ sugar,” said Smoothie, with little patience. “It’s only _refined_ sugar.”

“God, you sound like an idiot. So what, a slice of cake will kill you?”

“Literally, yes.”

“Good to know,” Nick noted. “My life would’ve been a lot easier if you’d just opened with that back when we met. Could’ve offed you in no time flat.”

Smoothie scowled and changed the subject. “It won’t take long to grab someone. I picked a bar more suited to your tastes. Very seedy. Used to be a few gangs operating out of there, no shortage of nasty characters milling about. I figured that would appeal to your warped sense of _justice_.” 

“How sweet of you.”

“Yes, actually,” said Smoothie unironically, his stare hard and calculating. “That _was_ sweet of me. It was very thoughtful. You’d do well to show some appreciation, instead of being sarcastic.”

“Anyone ever tell you that planning a murder with you is about as miserable as being married?”

Smoothie’s scowl deepened into something that Nick wasn’t sure he wanted to fuck with—he grumbled a halfhearted excuse for an apology under his breath, but that didn’t assuage it. 

“And here I was, thinking that we were getting married on Sunday,” the killer said in a sharp, silvery voice that reminded Nick of the knives he’d sharpened that morning. “Went to Kleinfeld’s and everything, just bought this dress.”

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, go fuck yourself,” Nick growled back. 

“You were very quick to shoot _that_ one down, back at the glorified laundromat, weren’t you?” Smoothie went on. “Strange, coming from a man who already brought _‘til death do us part'_ into the arrangement.”

“You’re not—oh, come _on_.”

“What?”

“You’re not seriously having this conversation with me right now,” Nick said, sounding more disgusted than he meant to, which Smoothie definitely took the wrong way. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Just seems suspicious, is all. Makes me wonder if you’re bluffing about the terms of our deal.”

“Smoothie, seriously. Leave it.”

“Must’ve been _such_ a divorce,” said the killer in a pointed voice. He could see that the last word cut into Nick like a knife, and he twisted it with relish. “To leave you so traumatized by the very concept. Did she take half of everything you owned? Or just the unborn child?”

“Knock it off,” Nick growled. The undercurrent of rage lingered in his voice, but the more prominent tone was one of hurt. “You’re opening a Pandora’s box of trouble, dumbass. I’d steer back to the rat conversation if I were you.”

“Hm. I’ve never been married,” Smoothie went on keenly, swirling his wine nonchalantly in his glass and tilting his head to one side to observe Nick’s simmering anger. “Not to anything except my work, I guess. Figured it wasn’t in the cards.”

“It’s not. At all.”

“But then again, I’m planning on retiring. The tax break might be nice. And as you know, I’m a big believer in leaning into _destiny_. Besides, you’d look good in a suit. Bet you did back then, too.”

“I get it, you’re mad about the rat thing,” Nick said, exhausted. “Or the moral compass thing, or something, whatever. I don’t give a shit what it’s about, the torture’s not necessary.”

“Is that what I’m doing, tiger? Torturing you?”

“Right now, yeah,” Nick snapped. “You are. But I get it, _mea culpa_ , whatever. Just lay off.”

He could see the flicker of amusement in Smoothie’s eyes; the killer was clearly taking pleasure in his discomfort. Smoothie didn’t look particularly inclined to switch subjects, and that was starting to make Nick more nervous than angry. He didn’t like the image of himself in a suit. He didn’t even like the image of Smoothie _imagining_ him in a suit, or with a boutonnière, like he’d had when he got married to Amanda—he hated every second of it, and he resented the fact that it made him remember his marriage and subsequent divorce at all. 

Finally he didn’t know what else to say, so he said the meanest thing he could think of, which was; “You can’t even eat wedding cake, dipshit.”

“Mm. You’ve got me there,” said Smoothie, in a voice which indicated that Nick had not, in fact, got him there. 

“Now _thankfully_ , this entire pointless conversation was just another one of your idiot torture techniques,” Nick snapped. “Because if you were even tangentially serious, not only would it be fucking _pathetic_ , it would also come off as creepy and desperate as hell—which I’m sure doesn’t fit you to a tee at all, does it, Smoothie?” 

“Oh, not remotely,” Smoothie lied, without hiding it. 

“I mean, what kind of goddamn _loser_ would you be, thinking that I’d profess my fuckin’ undying love to you or some Cinderella shit like that after two days and a few good screws?” 

“Such a loser,” Smoothie agreed with a little roll of his eyes. 

Nick stared at him tensely. He let the silence go on, bristling all the while, wondering if Smoothie would say something else. When the killer only finished up his wine and cleared the check with the waiter, Nick finally said, “Just to be clear, I—it’s mostly been a nice two days, obviously. And to be completely and totally fair the screwing has been, ahhh…probably more _phenomenal_ than _good_. But—you get what I mean.”

“Oh, I get what you mean, Nick.”

“You’re—you’re surprisingly tolerable,” Nick managed painfully. “But that doesn’t mean that I’d ever—or that I’d even _consider_ —”

“No need to go on,” said Smoothie with a satisfied little smile. “The fact that you’re so flustered makes it obvious how _you_ feel. Better keep that appointment at Kleinfeld’s. Look into some sugar-free _cakes_.”

Nick swallowed his pride and his reply, grumbling while he finished the last of the wine and then scrambled to get his coat back on—Smoothie was already halfway to the door. 

Nick thought about starting the argument up again to say something else in his own defense, but he couldn’t think of anything worthwhile. Annoyingly enough, he was starting to think about how nice _Smoothie_ would probably look in a tuxedo, which was easy to imagine, since Smoothie was already fond of dark suits and ties. It wasn’t a bad image—in fact, it was an alarmingly nice image, and Nick quickly tried to implant something else over top of it to cancel it out; a three-tiered wedding cake made of swarming white lab rats, with a thousand beady red eyes looking back at him. 

On the sidewalk he shivered, but not from the cold. Smoothie was already on his phone calling another ride, since his patience was wearing thin. Nick was fully aware of how idiotic it would look to reach out to him now for a kiss, or even to put his arms around the killer, but he couldn’t deny how much he wanted to. He settled for easing closer until he was looming beside the smaller man. Before long he felt one of Smoothie’s hands curl possessively around his arm, which satisfied the need to be touched. 

The car Smoothie called took them to a bar in the seedy underbelly of the city, quite far from the restaurant. It was on a dimly lit street, and Nick could hear the wail of a police siren and the howl of a tomcat far in the distance, as well as chatter from the grungy patrons smoking spliffs and cigarettes outside the bar. 

After they’d stepped out onto the sidewalk, Smoothie pulled Nick down a little to speak surreptitiously into his ear. “There’s an alleyway on either side. They connect at the back near a loading dock. I have an office three buildings down, it’s accessible from the back.” 

“How many fucking _offices_ do you have? Blue can’t have had that many enemies in this part of town,” Nick growled. 

“This one wasn’t for business,” Smoothie said with a little smirk. “Just pleasure.”

“Pleasure,” Nick grumbled, thinking back on the torture chamber he’d found last Easter full of disembodied tongues and piss-filled shower heads. He grimaced at the memory of it. 

Smoothie led him into the bar. He looked out of place in his tailored jacket, but his proximity to the gruff hitman made up for that. The place was crowded enough that no prying eyes fell on them, and although it was impossible to find a table, there were two stools open at the far end of the bar near a dart board. Nick barked out a drink order seconds after sitting down. 

He downed two drinks without hesitation, but took his time nursing the third while Smoothie scanned the room mechanically. He could see the gears working in the killer’s brain. Smoothie was sizing up the options, weighing pros and cons, assessing how easy it would be to lure someone into the back alley. Nick let him calculate and watched the patrons at the bar instead. 

There was a group of bikers at the far end reminiscing with one another, and two drunks who kept trying to get the bartender to break the tie in an argument they were having. The people seated closest to Nick and Smoothie were a pack of young women who looked like they’d been bar hopping all night—they were deep into their cocktails and making eyes at a group of men at one of the tables. One of them, a brunette, sized Nick up briefly with a speculative gaze, but she steered clear when Smoothie pointedly found Nick’s hand with his own and gave it a tender touch. 

“Lots of options,” Smoothie said, mostly to himself. He glanced over at Nick again and raised his eyebrows. “No preferences?”

“I don’t have _preferences_ ,” Nick snorted. “Not like _you_ do.”

“Everyone has preferences. Surely there’s some that you look back on more fondly than the others.” 

Nick scowled. At first he opened his mouth to deny it, but then something actually did come to mind. He looked down into his bourbon and said reluctantly, “Got kicked off the force for beating down a trashy douchebag lawyer. Would’ve liked to do worse. Domestic abuser, coke fiend, thought he was un-fucking-touchable because of his mob connections. Skinny little prick.”

“Mm. And what was so enticing about that one?”

“Felt like _justice_ ,” Nick grumbled. 

“Very charming.”

“Like he got what was coming to him. Finally. Never would’ve if I’d left it in the hands of the law, but fuck the law,” Nick snapped. “No one’s untouchable. No one’s invincible, and no one fuckin’ deserves to be. Guess that’s why I took Blue up on his offer of work—always knew I’d be taking out someone who deserved it.”

“So noble of you,” Smoothie sighed, sounding a little bit smitten at the concept. He smiled easily and then turned his attention back to the crowd. 

Nick thought back on how vindicating it had been in the early days; how much he’d enjoyed taking out Blue’s enemies. He could recall a few choice kills. They’d all been nasty criminals, easily just as bad as Smoothie, some even _worse_ than Smoothie—putting a bullet in someone like that had never made Nick feel guilty, it had only ever made him feel _powerful_. 

Smoothie was still sizing up the options and trying to decide which patron of the bar looked like they deserved Nick’s wrath the most when Nick’s eyes fell on a blond-haired man who sidled up to the bar. He was making idle chit chat with the brunette who’d eyed Nick earlier. She seemed into it at first, but the guy didn’t take long to start getting handsy. Nick kept an eye on them without staring; he feigned interest in Smoothie, and then in his drink, and then ordered another once that was gone. 

He saw the guy order a drink for the brunette, and while the bartender was distracted taking another order, he saw the man slip something into it discreetly. The sleight of hand was impressive—the brunette didn’t notice, because he misdirected her eyes expertly. It clearly wasn’t the first time he’d done this. 

“Smoothie,” Nick grumbled. 

“Mm?”

“You seeing this?”

Smoothie’s eyes were elsewhere, lingering on the bikers at the other end of the bar and trying to assess which one would be easiest to get alone in the back alley. “Seeing what?”

Nick watched the brunette take a sip of her drugged drink and then simmered with anger over his own. She didn’t _look_ anything like Hailey—she was significantly older, and her hair wasn’t quite so curly, and her eyes were the wrong color—but he found himself thinking about Hailey anyway. Images of the men who’d fucked up her childhood lingered in his mind; Blue, Sonny Shine, the freak in the Santa suit, and then finally Smoothie, who was sitting silent and still, watching him. Nick had only killed one of the four, and now he was _sleeping_ with another one, which made him feel like an absolute sham of a father. He sank into that feeling and let it wash over him. He _deserved_ it, after all, and it fueled his need for violence perfectly.

“I picked one,” he snarled into Smoothie’s ear, yanking the killer closer with one aggressive tug of his tie. 

“Thought you didn’t want to,” Smoothie said under his breath. He was visibly excited by the fact that Nick had changed his tune, and he didn’t bother to hide it—his eyes flickered down to Nick’s iron grip and he let out one hushed, approving sound before meeting the hitman’s gaze again. He loved the anger that he saw brimming behind Nick’s eyes. 

Nick pulled him in closer, _dangerously_ close, enough to draw a nasty look from one of the bikers across the way, and drank in the flash of delight that skipped across Smoothie’s face. 

“Meet me in the back alley,” Nick said in a low, sultry voice, as if he were proposing an illicit blowjob instead of a murder. “I’ll be right there.”

“You’ll need my help. It’s not easy to—”

“I’ve got it,” Nick insisted. “Not my first rodeo. You’ll only get in my way.”

Smoothie liked the confidence. It was enticing, and Nick’s casual assurance that he’d be able to subdue a victim without any assistance was enough to make his heart skip a beat. Smoothie couldn’t pinpoint a moment in his life where he’d wanted to kiss someone _more_ than he did right now—it was unusual, and he didn’t know how to resist it. He didn’t even bother to try. Instead he leaned into it and gave Nick one terribly hungry kiss, one that tasted of desperation and anticipation, and he didn’t let up until Nick pushed him roughly away. 

“Settle the tab,” Nick growled into his ear. He let his eyes linger on Smoothie’s lips for a moment before tearing his gaze away and focusing back in on his drink. 

It only took two minutes for Smoothie to pay the bartender and make himself scarce. Nick watched him leave, and so did the three irritated bikers on the other end of the bar, but none of them went after him. Once the killer was gone, Nick finished his drink and pushed himself up from the barstool. He deliberately knocked over the roofied drink in front of the brunette when he passed by her on the way to the man he’d picked. 

“Sorry about that,” he said to her halfheartedly, before turning to the man. “Outside, buddy.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded.

“I’m the guy who’s about to kick your ass,” Nick told him. “C’mon, don’t make it difficult. Be a man, take the handful of punches you deserve for being an absolute douchewagon, and I might let you run along home with your tail between your legs.”

He’d expected the man to throw a punch after goading him like that, but instead he was met with a bitter scowl. The man took a sip of his drink and swirled his glass. 

“Fuck off before I call the cops,” he said.

“Think the cops are gonna be sympathetic to a guy who just drugged a girl’s drink?” Nick demanded, giving the man a rough little push. “Come on. Outside, dumbass. We’ll settle it the old-fashioned way.”

Maybe the younger man thought that Nick looked old enough or drunk enough to take in a fight, or maybe Nick’s comment about the drugged drink had convinced him. Either way, he rolled up his sleeves and finished his liquor before hawking up a wad of saliva and spitting it onto Nick’s shoe.

“Fine. Let’s go, then, fag.”

“Hey, whoa, cool it with the—actually, y’know, you _kinda_ got me there, don’t you?” Nick admitted, remembering that he’d kissed a man seconds ago in plain view. He shrugged it off with an easy snort. “Ah, well. I’ll give you that one. Let’s dance, motherfucker.”

He pushed the man toward the door, and once they were out on the sidewalk, Nick grabbed him by the collar and yanked him through the pack of smokers, who parted like the Red Sea.

“Fuck you,” the man growled as Nick shoved him into the shadows of the alley. 

“Yeah, fuck you too, douchecanoe,” Nick agreed. 

Dropping him was literally effortless. Nick could’ve killed him then and there without a second thought, but he knew that Smoothie would whine about not getting to watch, so he settled for knocking the man unconscious with one swift, punishing headbutt. He threw the limp body over his shoulder before it even hit the ground and hastened off down the alley before the smokers could check in, hoping to minimize the number of witnesses. 

There was nothing in the alley except for a handful of garbage cans, which Nick moved through with ease. The stretch of asphalt in the back by the loading dock was dark and unappealing, and smelled like the ass end of a sewer. Smoothie materialized out of the shadows in no time flat. The killer’s eyes were cold and still, but Nick could see the _pride_ in them anyway—Smoothie scanned the sight of him appreciatively, his gaze lingering on the motionless victim over Nick’s shoulder. 

“Not bad,” he said, looking down at his watch, as if he’d been timing things. “A little slow, but still effective. Impressive.”

“Quit acting like you’re not hard as a rock right now, asshole,” Nick said flatly. 

“Oh, I absolutely am,” Smoothie confirmed. “Literally, what little erectile tissue I have left internally? _Rock_ hard.” 

“Good to know. Lead the way, this guy’s heavy.”

Smoothie took him by the scarf and led him down the alley with a playful gleam in his eye, as if it were nothing but a clandestine affair with a little bit of spicy secrecy. There was another loading dock three buildings down with a padlocked door beside it. A key on Smoothie’s ring opened the padlock, and once he’d removed the lock and chains, he opened it and ushered Nick inside. 

He flicked on the overhead lights, which were dim and yellow, few and far between. Nick found himself standing in a long, eerie corridor next to a boiler room. Smoothie led him deeper into the building, past a maze of locked doors, some of which emitted foul, mysterious smells and others of which reeked of formaldehyde and bleach. The killer moved easily. He knew exactly where they were going, and stopped before one of the doors to unlock it with quick, eager fingers.

The lights were yellow and dim in here, too, and it didn’t look like Smoothie’s more _professional_ torture chamber—this one was more sparse and less carefully organized. There was a long wooden work table against one wall with a set of nasty sharp implements, but not nearly the vast selection that Nick had seen in the other location. There was no other furniture except for one imposing dentist’s chair in the center of the room, complete with attached handcuffs, and an ugly set of shackles bolted into one of the walls near a floor drain. 

Nick deposited his quarry into the dentist’s chair and watched Smoothie strap him down at the wrists and ankles with practiced motions. It was _gross_ , and it made Nick feel sick to his stomach; he was used to putting a bullet in someone quickly and cleanly, not getting a whole chair or a table full of torture tools involved. 

He pulled out one of his handguns, hoping to get it over with, and rolled his eyes when Smoothie made a noise of disapproval.

“Come _on_ ,” Nick growled. “You can’t expect me to—”

“Have _fun_ ,” Smoothie whined. 

“My idea of fun is drinking. Let’s go back to the bar, if fun is what you’re after.”

“I _knew_ you would be difficult about this,” Smoothie scolded in a petulant little voice, as if Nick’s suggestion of a bullet was on par with the hitman having forgotten to do the dishes. “You’ve done worse, I _know_ you have. You even picked this one yourself. What’s the issue?”

“Just seems pointless to drag everything out.”

“Where’s the sense of justice in that?”

“The sense of justice comes from the fact that he’s wiped off the face of the earth,” Nick explained. “Doesn’t do anyone any good to drag out the process, does it?”

“It does _you_ good. Don’t pretend it doesn’t,” Smoothie said. He caught Nick by the scarf and pulled him closer, easing the handgun back into the hitman’s coat pocket and giving him a small, sly smile. “Helps you work out all of that pent-up aggression. Makes you feel on top of the world. Like you’re the arbiter of life and death, like you’re one of the gods.”

Nick could _smell_ dark chocolate on the killer’s breath, even though he knew he was only imagining it by now—Smoothie couldn’t even tolerate the stuff. Even though it was imaginary, it was still completely intoxicating. He felt Smoothie’s lips brushing up against his neck enticingly, and then that soft voice hissing into his ear, “It isn’t just the justice that gets you off, is it, Nick? It’s the idea of dishing out _punishment_ to whoever deserves it. That’s the part that really _thrills_ you.” 

Nick thought back to all the criminals he’d seen walk during his days on the force, thought back to the fact that Sonny Shine had gotten away with his twisted schemes for so long without anyone batting an eye—he knew that Smoothie was right, but it felt miserable to admit it. He’d always gotten off on punishing the scum of the earth. He flashed back to beating that scumbag lawyer to the edge of death before getting kicked out the NYPD; he’d _loved_ the sound of the man’s teeth shattering against the concrete and the agonized wheeze of the man’s breath through his ruined windpipe. There was no denying it. 

He didn’t even notice when his arms wound around Smoothie’s waist. It was instinctive by now, and he wouldn’t have realized it if Smoothie hadn’t settled in against his chest with a small, dreamy sigh. 

“Don’t be ashamed of it, Nick,” he murmured invitingly, every syllable laced with approval. “It’s in your nature. You’re a killer. It’s in your blood.”

“Not everyone is as fucked up as you,” Nick objected. Even before the words left his mouth, he knew they were only a deflection. Not everyone was as fucked up as Smoothie, sure, but Nick knew that _he_ was. His vices and his violence took different forms than Smoothie’s own, but at the core, they were the same in every way that mattered. 

“Maybe not. But here you are, anyway,” Smoothie said. “Alone in a room with me and the man you decided to kill. With your arms around me. Looking perfectly willing to kiss me. Doesn’t that seem just as _fucked up_ to you?” 

Nick didn’t want to answer, so he took Smoothie’s suggestion and kissed him instead, hoping that would put an end to the conversation once and for all. He could feel the killer clutching at him eagerly, pulling him close with another insistent tug of his scarf. It was impossible not to give in—Smoothie was right, and everything about him _felt_ right, all the way down to the taste of his mouth and the fact that he fit perfectly in Nick’s arms. Nick tried to ignore the fact that the word “ _destiny_ ” flickered through his mind, but maybe there was something to it after all; nothing else could explain the twisted bond between the two of them. 

When their lips finally parted he found himself mumbling into the killer’s ear, “Not gonna drag it out all night. Got better things to do. Like _you_.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Smoothie agreed with a sultry smile. He rapped his fingers against Nick’s chest playfully, and then his voice turned sharp. “Now, where to begin? Do you want him awake? Do you want an apron? One size fits all. Hate to ruin that sweater.”

“It’s washable.”

“Alternatively, you’re welcome to take it off. Though that’s probably too much to ask,” Smoothie said. He sighed wistfully, picturing Nick shirtless and covered in blood, and then shook the tantalizing image out of his mind. “I’ll get an apron. Wait right here. Don’t start without me!”

He slipped out of Nick’s arms and left the room, scurrying off to some other dark corner of his lair to fetch what he wanted. Nick shrugged off his coat, and also the sweater like Smoothie had suggested, despite the chill of the building. He tossed both of them on the wooden work table and examined the set of cruel items strewn across it—a handful of knives, hammers and pliers, a set of tongs, some bondage gear, and a few weird tools that looked medical in nature. Nick picked up one of two of them, but they felt unnatural in his hands. The pliers and the knives felt better. He’d even used those before on jobs that he’d done for Blue, but only when he was feeling particularly vengeful. 

He let his fingers trace over a black ball gag, and remembered Smoothie forcing one just like it into his mouth all those months ago, on Christmas Eve. It felt like it had been _years_ since then. 

He was still tracing the gag with one hand and holding a set of pliers in the other when Smoothie came back into the room holding a folding chair, a Polaroid camera, and a transparent rubber apron. The killer stopped short in the doorway to stare.

“Something wrong?” Nick demanded. 

“No. Much the opposite,” Smoothie said hastily, taking in the image of Nick Sax naked from the waist up, holding a cruel set of pliers. “Just, ah. Just appreciating the scenery.”

“Keep the apron,” Nick grumbled in reply, waving it away. “Looks gross. Wouldn’t trust it anyhow, probably moonlights as a piss shield.”

“As if I would want a shield.”

“Jesus Christ. Can we get this over with?”

“You could at least _fake_ a bit of interest in my interests, you know.”

“Smoothie, baby, one goddamn thing at a time, please?” Nick said, exasperated. “We’re on the murder thing right now, can we put the piss thing on the back burner? Doesn’t that sound reasonable to you?”

Smoothie rolled his eyes, but he let out a vague noise of agreement anyhow. He folded the apron up and laid it on the table beside Nick’s coat before setting up his folding chair. He tried to resist touching the hitman for approximately four seconds, but then he gave up and let one of his hands skate over the steely landscape of Nick’s broad back. 

Something about the touch must have revealed how excited he was, because Nick cast him a long, disapproving look and said, “This _really_ gets you going, doesn’t it?” 

“Mff. Like nothing else.”

“Gotta get you a _real_ hobby.”

“One thing at a time,” Smoothie said easily, with a smile. He cracked his knuckles, then scanned the table and said, “Now, I’m on pins and needles. _Such_ a shame I didn’t bring any pins or needles—need any advice? Encouragement? Or would you rather I just watch?”

Nick let out an irritated little grumble. “Baby, are you gonna _hover_ the whole time I’m ventilating this bastard?”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You kinda are, though.”

Smoothie shot him a mean look, but then acquiesced anyway. He offered up one disarming little gesture and then took a seat in the folding chair, turning his attention to the Polaroid camera in his hands. Nick watched him fiddle with it for a few moments, then asked, “What’s that for?”

“Commemorating the moment.”

“Seriously?”

“Nick, someday we’re going to look back on this very fondly,” Smoothie declared. “As a turning point in our relationship. A moment of mutual appreciation for one another’s passions in life. You’ll thank me for it when you see the scrapbook. I’m _really_ good with scrapbooks.”

He snapped a photo of Nick frowning at him with the pliers. 

“All this, and the homicide department _never_ caught you?” Nick confirmed. 

“They caught me eight times,” Smoothie admitted with a lackadaisical shrug. “Kept finding all of my scrapbooks. Oops.”

“Of course they did. And Blue paid ‘em off, all eight times. Fuckin’ disgusting.”

“Destiny, Nick. It all brought me to you.” Smoothie set the first photo aside to develop, then poised himself to take another, glancing up at Nick with a strangely sincere smile. “Want any music? I can put on—”

“You’re hovering, baby.”

“—Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

Nick thought about it, then reluctantly cast his eyes back to Smoothie and grumbled, “Music wouldn’t hurt.” 

He flipped the pliers decisively into the air and caught them again, then grabbed the ball gag and steeled himself for the slaughter. It wasn’t the first time Nick had killed or maimed anyone, but he didn’t usually have an audience, and Nick was no stranger to performance anxiety—his penchant for premature ejaculation was proof enough of that. 

He didn’t want Smoothie to hear the hapless victim throw out the word “ _fag_ ” again, since he was certain Smoothie had heard _that_ word enough times in his life already, so he strapped the ball gag tightly into the man’s mouth to avoid commentary altogether. He was surprised that it didn’t make him feel guilty—not even slightly. He didn’t even feel guilty when he slapped the unconscious man awake and watched him take in the room around him with panicked eyes. 

“I know, right?” Nick said. “Seriously not your day, is it, pal?”

He liked the music that started up from Smoothie’s phone; it was upbeat and interesting, with some solid electric guitar. It was loud enough to drown out anything Nick said to the man in the dentist’s chair so that Smoothie couldn’t hear, but not quite loud enough to cover the sound of the killer’s obnoxious Polaroid camera, which snapped occasionally. 

“Christ only knows what you were plannin’ to do to that poor lady in the bar,” Nick said to the man in the chair, mostly to make himself feel better about the situation. He tried to stoke up his own anger again, knowing that _that_ would carry him through to the end even if the hollow enjoyment of inflicting pain didn’t. “Probably something just about as nasty as this. Makes me sick to my goddamn stomach. I got a daughter, see—you got any daughters?”

The man started to shake his head, then reconsidered his predicament and nodded. 

“No you don’t, go fuck yourself. Trying to bond with me? This ain’t a goddamn bonding experience,” said Nick, ignoring the sound of the Polaroid camera which reminded him that it was, in some way, a bonding experience. “Anyway, when a guy’s got daughters—which ain’t in the cards for you, unfortunately—it changes the way he thinks about douchebags like you. Every time some sleazy piece of shit like you tries to take advantage of a girl like that, you think— _what would I do to that motherfucker, if he did that to_ my _daughter_? Obviously she ain’t my daughter, but she’s _someone’s_ daughter, isn’t that right?”

The man was trying to say something muffled through the ball gag, so Nick put a stop to it with the pliers. He’d removed fingernails before; it was almost easy, in fact, even though he was out of practice. He was glad for the music, not only because it helped to cover over the sound of the screams, but also because he _knew_ somehow that Smoothie was making a petulant noise and grumbling about how _cliche_ it was to start with pulling out fingernails. One glance at Smoothie over his shoulder confirmed it—the killer had one eyebrow raised, and was looking unimpressed. 

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that look, act excited,” Nick insisted. Smoothie quickly gave him a thumbs up and feigned interest supportively, which Nick found a little bit charming, in a weird way. He turned his attention back to the man in the chair and tried to make conversation while he finished the fingernails on one hand. He gestured vaguely to Smoothie and said, “Boyfriend. Kind of a new thing. Been kinda _unofficial_ since Christmas—you know how it is, on and off, still seeing other people?”

The man in the chair didn’t have much to say, so Nick shrugged and broke a few fingers to give Smoothie something to get excited about. 

“Between you and me, though, it’s going _really_ well,” the hitman said secretively. “We vibe more than I expected. Mostly knew each other through work, didn’t spend a lot of casual time together until recently. Hate to admit it, but he’s actually kind of _fun_. Real smart cookie, too.”

He tossed the pliers and fetched a knife and hammer from the work table, ignoring the infatuated, doe-eyed look Smoothie was giving him. He could tell when he started in with the knife that Smoothie was more interested in it; he could hear the Polaroid camera snapping more frequently than before. Nick leaned in to grumble into the captive man’s ear while he carved the other one off, “He’s really into me, though. Like, _really_ into me. Kinda intimidating, if I’m being honest. He seems pretty into the whole _soulmate_ thing, and I’m starting to worry that he might be right about that. Guess I’m just used to dating people who think they can fix my issues—but he doesn’t mind my issues. Kinda wants me to be the best version of _myself_ , not whoever the world tells me I’m _supposed_ to be. It’s been a breath of fresh air, honestly. I think it’s really going somewhere.” 

Nick sighed. He wasn’t sure what else to say, and he wasn’t used to listening to quite so many wails of agony—his ears were already hurting, and he wasn’t quite as into torture as Smoothie was, so he felt that he’d done enough. He gave the man a few knocks with the hammer for good measure, just because he knew Smoothie would go ballistic over that. Once he’d gotten the jaw and a few of the more interesting spots taken care of, he undid the restraints and tossed the man to the floor near the drain. 

He tried to catch Smoothie’s eye first, which was difficult with the camera in the way. He was only able to catch a glimpse of the red rabbit eye and the killer’s icy, self-satisfied smile. 

Nick finished the job with the hammer. He knew Smoothie would like that the most; the killer made no secret of how attracted he was to Nick’s brutality, after all. Even with the music filling his ears, Nick could still hear the delighted little sound that Smoothie let out when he watched the man’s skull cave in. He was staring so intently that he forgot to even snap a final photograph. 

Nick let the hammer clatter to the floor and wiped his hands together, trying to flick away some of the blood. When he glanced back up at Smoothie, the killer was staring at him with an absolutely ravenous look on his face. 

“I know, I know,” Nick sighed, already reading his mind. “Let me guess; you’re hornier than you’ve ever been in your entire goddamn life, and you want me to bone you in the weird torture chair. I’m not an idiot, I know that’s where this is going.”

Smoothie nodded silently. 

“Gonna take your clothes off, then, or do you wanna get blood all over ‘em?”

Nick had never seen anyone take off a tie so fast in his life, or a button-down, for that matter. He could see the tremor of excitement going through the killer’s body while he stripped in record time. It only took Smoothie a second to pounce, and when his hands and lips found Nick’s face, they were more eager than they’d ever been before. 

Nick had liked the adrenaline rush of the kill, but he liked _this_ a lot more. It was nice feeling irresistible for once. It was _especially_ nice feeling irresistible after committing an act of unspeakable violence, which was what Nick knew he did best—it made him feel good about himself, in a backwards sort of way. He couldn’t get enough of the greedy sounds Smoothie let out into his mouth, or the way the killer’s fingers clawed long red lines down his chest in desperation. 

Smoothie was small and easy enough to pick up, and he clung to Nick’s body to make it easier. Nick tried to deposit him into the chair, but Smoothie clawed at him mercilessly until Nick switched places with him and settled underneath. The seat was still warm from the body heat of the man he’d killed. Nick didn’t care for that, but he was distracted soon enough—Smoothie straddled him controllingly, gripping tight with his thighs and running his hands over Nick’s body as if it belonged to him. It was nice getting to look up at him like this, Nick thought, even though he looked completely starved and ready to tear the hitman to ribbons. Smoothie pushed him down with impressive force and kissed him twice as voraciously as before. 

“That really _did_ get you going,” Nick growled against the killer’s lips, leaning back into the chair when Smoothie’s insistent mouth moved down to his throat. “Not sure if it’s because I iced someone or if it’s just because I caved and did what you wanted.”

Smoothie was too busy to respond. Nick wondered briefly if he’d made a terrible mistake—the killer’s nails felt fantastic against his skin, but they _hurt_ , and so did those wicked teeth. It felt like Smoothie wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted to fuck Nick or tear him apart. Still, complaining about it didn’t even cross Nick’s mind; he only pulled Smoothie against him tighter, excited by the killer’s unhinged display of desire. 

He loved the way Smoothie’s body writhed with animal need against him. The killer’s hips moved forcefully, even aggressively, and the smooth, serpentine way that his spine arched into every motion fired Nick up like nothing else. He was so entranced by the sight and sensation of Smoothie’s body that he didn’t even fight back when the killer grabbed one of his wrists—Smoothie forced Nick’s hand to his own chest and dragged it down with a miserable moan, leaving a bright scarlet stain. Nick let his other hand follow suit without being prompted. He raked both of them up the killer’s slender body, muttering a mouthful of affectionate curses under his breath while he took in the sight of it, and let his thumbs rub attentive, bloody circles around the flushed nipples of Smoothie’s chest. That was enough to draw out another of those desperate moans. 

“You’ve never had this much fun in your whole goddamn life,” Nick said, astounded by the realization. He almost expected Smoothie to deny it—after all, no one had _ever_ looked this excited to fuck the washed-up, degenerate hitman before. 

“Never,” Smoothie confirmed in a voice so low and dark that it was almost inhuman. 

“Jesus Christ. Didn’t realize that was all it took, psycho,” Nick laughed. He knew in the back of his mind that he should’ve found it disgusting, especially when he felt Smoothie’s teeth dig into one of his hands and watched the killer’s tongue lave away a mouthful of blood, but instead it only spurred him on further. He loved the frenzy Smoothie had worked up. It felt contagious; it was driving him toward new heights of excitement and depravity, and Nick _liked_ that. When he forced one of his bloodied thumbs in between Smoothie’s lips and deep into his mouth, the deadly sound that the killer let out thrilled him to no end. 

“Gorgeous,” Nick growled under his breath, delighting in the sensation of Smoothie’s tongue on his skin. “You fucking _psychopath_.” 

He hooked the killer’s lower jaw and yanked him down into another kiss. All he could taste was chocolate. The blood was nothing more than an afterthought. 

Smoothie’s hands were already at the front of the hitman’s jeans, fighting with the button and the zipper and tripping over both in his haste to undo them. He let out a greedy, breathy sound into Nick’s mouth once the hitman’s cock was free; he ground himself against it with one long, intense roll of his hips. 

Nick clutched him closer and refused to let him go. He wrapped his bloodied hands around the back of the killer’s neck and forced him into another hypnotizing kiss while he enjoyed the sensation of the other man’s scar tissue against the underside of his cock. It felt as good as it had the first time—maybe even better, now that he was getting used to it. He let himself chase the feeling with a few easy thrusts and groaned appreciatively into Smoothie’s mouth. 

Nick would’ve traded anything for more of this. It felt wrong in a way that was terribly and sickeningly _right_. He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than right here, trapped in the deadly grip of Smoothie’s thighs and the taste of his tongue. The killer’s desperation turned him on like nothing else; it was even more exciting than Smoothie’s usual cold confidence. Nick wasn’t used to feeling so _wanted_. 

He felt even _more_ wanted when Smoothie broke away from his lips and slipped quickly and silently down between his legs—the hitman’s cock was in his mouth before Nick even knew what was happening. It felt as spectacular as it had the last time, and Nick let out one short, choked sound of enjoyment before letting himself relax into it with a grateful groan. The blowjob was short-lived, though; once Smoothie was satisfied with the amount of lazy lubrication, he was back in Nick’s lap in an instant and already positioning himself. 

“Don’t you want any lu—Jesus _Christ_ , okay, nevermind,” Nick managed, halting mid-sentence when he felt the killer force his cock in. It felt rougher without any _actual_ lube, and the grip of Smoothie’s body around him felt even more coarse and snug than before. Nick felt the killer shove him down flat into the chair again with one bossy, insistent push, and then Smoothie eased himself down the rest of the way. 

It hurt, but Smoothie was long past the point of caring about that. The heat and satisfaction of the hitman’s cock inside of him more than made up for it. If anything, the pain only made him appreciate Nick even more; it kept Nick’s love of violence in the forefront of his mind while he took the hitman’s dick down to the hilt. Nick was touching him now as if he were in a trance, his fingers roving across Smoothie’s chest and down to the sensitive skin between his legs. He was bolder than usual, more experimental and forceful, even though he stayed right where Smoothie had placed him. 

Nick was determined this time—Smoothie looked unable to contain himself already, and every now and again he let out a sharp, desperate sound in response to the pressure of Nick’s fingers. The hitman paid close attention to those sounds. Nick hadn’t made detective all those years ago for nothing; he was smart enough to put the pieces together, to figure out which spots made Smoothie’s breath hitch uncontrollably and which ones made the killer’s hips buck more violently into his own. The sight of Smoothie coming undone so easily brought a mean grin to the hitman’s face. 

“Obsessed with it, aren’t you?” he growled, forcing two fingers up against the sensitive skin between the killer’s legs and flicking his thumb across the catheter. “Getting to fuck the guy who just brained someone right in front of you.”

Smoothie let out another of those incoherent sounds and nodded. He braced himself against Nick’s chest to drive himself down onto the hitman’s cock even harder, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to bite back a miserable moan. 

“You can’t even fucking _talk_ ,” Nick chuckled. “The asshole who never shuts his mouth, finally struck speechless, isn’t that right? Fuckin’ _adorable_.” 

“Be quiet,” Smoothie ordered through his teeth. He closed his eyes tight, and Nick saw one long shiver chase through his body. 

“Holy shit, you’re gonna _cum_ , aren’t you? You said you _couldn’t_!” Nick laughed triumphantly, doubling his efforts, massaging his fingers into those sensitive spots and thrusting up into the rhythm Smoothie’s hips provided. The killer made a desperate sound in reply, one that sounded just as confused as it did ecstatic—his face was a mindless mask of concentration, his eyes still screwed shut. 

Nick wasn’t entirely sure how he held out. Maybe it was because he’d already cum so many times these past few days and his body was worn out from it, or maybe it was because he was too interested in watching Smoothie’s responses to think about his own steadily building climax. Either way, he let the killer ride him for all he was worth. Smoothie was panting, and Nick noted with a little hint of pride that the killer’s face broke into a breathless, astounded smile as things sped up. Nick could _feel_ it happening, even as gradual as it was, even though he had to coax it out with strategic touches and firm, bloodied hands—he could see it building, and every flicker of flushed confusion that passed over Smoothie’s face told him that it was inevitable. 

“That’s it. C’mon, baby, I _know_ you’re gettin’ close, do whatever it fuckin’ takes,” Nick encouraged in a low, greedy growl. “We’ll get you there, even if I have to break another poor bastard to _pieces_ right in front of you, _just_ for you—you like that, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes. _Yes_ ,” Smoothie managed through gritted teeth. “ _Nick_ —”

“There we go, sweetheart, eyes on the prize.”

Breaking the rhythm of his hands was risky, but Nick had always been a gambling man. He sat up and tugged Smoothie into a long, rough kiss, loving the fact that the killer let out a delirious moan into it. Smoothie’s hips were working mercilessly against him now, and the killer’s breath was catching in his throat; Nick picked up the rhythm with his fingers again to encourage it. He pulled the little man in closer one last time to growl into his ear, “I’d turn anyone in this fuckin’ _city_ inside-out for you, cottontail. Carve your goddamn name in ‘em, too. Let everyone know you’re _mine_.” 

Smoothie’s trembling hands found their way to Nick’s neck and tightened there in a deadly grip. His voice was thin and breathless when he pressed his lips against the hitman’s ear. “Nick, _I_ _think I’m_ —”

That was it; Nick felt the killer’s whole body shudder, then heard him let out an uncharacteristically sharp swear of astonishment when the first shock of sensation swept over him. It was followed up immediately by a burst of uncontrollable, ecstatic laughter. It was almost nice, at first, and only got more maniacal the longer it went on—Smoothie forced Nick back down into the chair and rode it out with a long, orgasmic howl of triumph. Nick could barely feel anything except those hands clamped tight around his throat, but he knew he’d gotten the job done. There was no mistaking it; the frenzied blaze burning behind Smoothie’s eyes and the tremor moving through the killer’s body told him everything he needed to know. 

It only took a handful of thrusts for the choking to bring Nick to the edge, too, and he offered up one satisfied growl of relief when the climax washed over him. He finished with a few short, powerful jerks of his hips, keeping himself buried inside even after he started softening, and then shook Smoothie’s hands from his throat before pulling the killer in forcefully against his chest. Smoothie was like a ball of putty in his hands; limp and lifeless, willing to go along with literally anything Nick wanted in the wake of the unmatched pleasure—Nick had never felt more haughty, more proud of himself. 

He could feel Smoothie panting against his chest. The little man’s breath was still shaking. His eyes were wide, and the red one bored directly into the core of Nick’s heart with a chilling, unblinking stare when he finally looked up to catch the hitman’s gaze. 

He didn’t say anything, or _couldn’t_ , maybe. He was lost in the comfortable warmth of Nick’s chest and the crush of the hitman’s arms, and his body was still ringing with the aftershocks of what had happened. Smoothie had gotten close to it before, countless times, but there had always been something _missing_ in the equation. Maybe it was as simple as never having had a partner who understood him before, the way that Nick did now, or maybe it had more to do with the fact that Nick was still smeared with the blood of the man he’d just butchered. He could feel the hitman painting bloody little hearts into the skin of his back with his fingertips, and that felt almost as amazing as the orgasm. Not _quite_ as amazing, though—Smoothie couldn’t think of anything in his life that felt quite as nice as that, not even the thrill of the kill. 

Smoothie wasn’t sure why it felt so nice to lay motionless in Nick’s arms, or why he was so _terribly_ sleepy now. He let his eyes close with a satisfied little sigh and settled in against Nick’s chest while the hitman readjusted under him to get more comfortable. 

Nick let him rest. He hummed an old drinking song to himself while he daubed his name into the skin of Smoothie’s back, trying his best to make it look like a bloody tramp stamp. He could’ve laid there for hours. He could’ve fallen asleep there, like Smoothie was dangerously close to doing—he could tell by the way the killer’s breath slowed down and deepened. Nick let himself drift into a dreamy half-sleep, trailing his fingers lazily along Smoothie’s spine and burying his face in the killer’s clean dark hair. The room was cold, but Smoothie was warm enough. 

They lay there for a while. Finally Smoothie stirred and mumbled sleepily against Nick’s chest, “It felt better than I expected.” 

Nick smiled and ruffled his hair. “And you said _I_ was the one who needed my horizons broadened.”

“Mm. Never could manage it myself. Gave up trying a long time ago,” Smoothie murmured. Nick liked the faraway quality of his voice, and the fact that he stretched and yawned before settling back down with a satisfied huff. The killer went on, grumbling, “Easier to get my kicks from other things. Simpler things.”

“Like murder.”

“Like murder,” Smoothie agreed. “Domination. Submission. Torture. Things like that.”

“Think of how much goddamn unpleasantness could’ve been avoided if someone had just touched you right,” Nick said, glancing down at the killer, smoothing his hair back again with appreciative fingers. “Touched you how they should’ve.”

“Mm. The way _you_ do,” Smoothie sighed thoughtfully. He’d grown to like the way that Nick pawed at his hair, and the way Nick’s arms held him fast in the afterglow. Smoothie wondered if he was only feeling so sentimental because of the fact that Nick had managed something that he and so many other useless lovers had failed at, or whether the way he felt was just destiny running its natural course. It didn’t really matter which. Getting him to cum was the least of Nick Sax’s unique accomplishments—the most impressive achievement by far was getting Smoothie to really _feel_ something. 

“ _Te quiero_ doesn’t mean _motherfucker_ ,” he admitted quietly. 

“I know, dumbass,” Nick chuckled. He planted one rough, coarse kiss on the back of the killer’s neck and then said, with a good-natured smile, “I googled it this morning.”

“Very prudent of you.”

“I’ve got a phrase you’ll find just as romantic.”

“Mm?”

Nick brushed his lips teasingly against the other man’s ear and growled, “Wanna help me get rid of a body?”

Smoothie _did_ find that just as romantic. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it only happens once and it's brief and i apologize in advance but it felt narratively necessary i take full responsibility for my sins thank you and goodnight

It was actually surprisingly easy to get rid of a body in Smoothie’s little hideaway. He had all the necessary materials on hand already—barrels of sodium hydroxide and bone saws, bathtubs with sealable tops to keep everything locked in, even sets of fleshing knives in case he was in a rush. 

“I _used_ to have a whole colony of flesh-eating beetles here,” Smoothie said wistfully while he carved through a particularly irritating arm joint. “Prettiest little things, dermestid beetles. Had to bring them all upstate with me, though, they’re back at the house. I’ll show them to you later—takes them a while to strip anything clean, but they’re _so_ good at it. Really fun to watch.”

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Nick said. He was still lounging in the dentist’s chair, watching Smoothie do all the work, practicing spinning one of his handguns around one finger with the safety on. 

“It’s elegant,” Smoothie corrected. 

“You’re disgusting.”

Smoothie cast him one disapproving little look, then turned his attention back to the mostly-dismembered body. He finished sawing through the problematic arm joint, then carefully deposited the limb into the tub of sodium hydroxide he’d filled up. He was in too good of a mood to chastise Nick for being judgmental—in fact, he was in a good enough mood to allow Nick just about anything, after the incredible things the hitman had done to his body only an hour ago. Smoothie was still reeling from it, and trying not to make it look too obvious. He wanted to wait as long as he could before asking Nick for a repeat; he didn’t want to look as desperate for it as he felt, or as intrigued, or as confused, or as excited—Smoothie couldn’t even pin down _which_ of those feelings were the strongest. When he tried to think about it, the only thing that flashed through his mind was the grim realization that he was quickly becoming _hopelessly_ devoted to Nick Sax. Smoothie wasn’t sure whether he liked that realization or not. 

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Nick said eventually, casually, still spinning his gun. “We snag one of Orcus’s men, bring ‘em back here. Might not be able to get one alone, but I know I can take ‘em. Done it before, I’ll do it again. Just need to figure out what kind of operation he’s got going on in the city. Gotta still be involved in some of the mob shit, right?” 

“Probably,” Smoothie agreed.

“Any of your old contacts say anything about it?”

“No. Knew approximately where he was, but they didn’t have any details. Seems he didn’t keep too many of Blue’s old enforcers on his payroll. Replaced the staff with people who were loyal to him instead of the Scaramuccis.”

“Checks out. Clever of him.”

“Weren’t you chasing after him, too? This past Easter?”

“No,” Nick snorted. “We crossed paths a few times, but no. I was chasing after _you_.” 

That made Smoothie smile, and he tried to mask it by turning his attention immediately back to the corpse he was dismembering so that Nick wouldn’t see the blush creeping up his neck. He finished up with it quickly enough and deposited the rest of the pieces into the vat of chemicals, then secured the lid overtop and sealed it tight. 

“That should be good,” he said with a nod of approval, stripping off his gloves and apron. “Just needs to sit for a few days.”

“You got a shower in here?” Nick asked. “Actually, don’t bother answering. I know you do. Lemme rephrase: got a shower with _water_ in here, or just one full of piss?” 

“There’s one with _water_ , Nick.” 

“The piss one must be in another room, then,” Nick snorted. 

Smoothie bit his tongue, because it wasn’t in another room, it was technically in the _same_ room, just operated with a different knob than the normal shower—he figured Nick didn’t need to know _those_ details. Besides, the supply was surely dry by now, since he’d been away from the city for months. 

He heard the squeak of the dentist chair when Nick stood up. The hitman’s hands were on him only seconds later, creeping around his waist from behind while Nick leaned in to speak right into his ear. 

“Go on and show me, I gotta get cleaned up. You can join me in the shower if you’re into that,” he offered in a low, affectionate voice. “Wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Wouldn’t mind the view,” Smoothie admitted.

“Got soap?”

“I’m not a barbarian.”

“Right, gotta have soap, for all the blood and guts. And _things_ ,” Nick said. “Pity we gotta wash off that tramp stamp.”

“Tramp stamp?”

“Wrote my name on your ass. Remind me to do it in sharpie next time.”

Smoothie made an irritated noise, mostly because he resented the fact that he found it a little bit adorable. He turned to look up at the hitman and felt Nick pull him in closer. “Maybe if I’m feeling particularly generous someday.”

Nick chuckled and pushed him toward the door, following behind. Smoothie led him back the way they’d come through initially, towards the entrance, sorting through his ring of keys. The shower wasn’t far, but when Smoothie unlocked the door Nick noticed that it was small, and the lights were terribly dim and eerie. It was one single room with tiled walls, a shower head fixed on three of them and the door on the fourth. There was an imposing drain in the center of the floor. 

It looked clean, at least, which was a surprise in a place like this, especially one that had been abandoned for six months. There were a few cobwebs in the corners, but nothing grimy, and a locker with a set of fluffy towels. Nick tossed his shoes and jeans off to the side, then watched Smoothie do the same with his own clothes, though the killer folded his first. 

“It’ll take a minute to heat up,” Smoothie said, turning one of the knobs all the way to the left. Nick heard a few pipes creak in protest somewhere in the ceiling. Water jetted out from the shower head to his right a few seconds later, and Nick felt it with his hands. It was freezing cold. 

“What _was_ this building, anyway?” he grumbled.

“Old retail suite. I made some adjustments.”

“Clearly,” Nick said. He cast his eyes over Smoothie again, who was busy brushing dust off an old bar of soap that he’d left in a nook in the wall six months ago. It would be a shame to clean off all the little hearts Nick had scribbled onto his back, even if they did look a bit gross now that the blood had congealed. Nick stared at him for a minute, then said, “Ever fucked anyone in this shower?”

“What? No,” Smoothie said with a frown. “This is for washing off after torture, mostly.”

“Mostly.”

Smoothie’s gaze hardened, and he made an irritated noise before admitting, “And for occasional _solo_ watersports. Never brought anyone else here. It’s my own little retreat.”

“Never brought anyone else here except all the people you, y’know, indiscriminately murdered?”

“Exactly.”

“So what I’m hearing you say is that you’ve never fucked anyone in this shower,” Nick confirmed. 

Smoothie narrowed his eyes and then raised one brow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were suggesting it.”

“Might be.”

“You came _twice_ today. Already. Doubt you can manage another.”

“Try me.”

“Hm, and set myself up for disappointment? No, thank you,” Smoothie said keenly. Nick scoffed, more than a little bit offended by the statement, and crossed his arms combatively over his chest. 

“Look, I might shoot off early, but I can shoot off _often_ enough to make up for it,” he prickled defensively. “Got stamina. I’m like a goddamn wild stallion. Or something. Three isn’t even close to my record.”

Nick started thinking about horses again, and he tried to shake the concept from his head while Smoothie eyed him critically. 

“When was the _record_ set? Within the past five years, _stallion_?” the killer demanded. 

“Well—no, but—”

“Exactly. What’s _that_ record, hm?”

Nick grumbled, calculated for a minute, and then admitted, “Uh. Twice, I guess. That record also might have been set with you.”

“Thought so.”

“But records are made to be broken, and like I said, I’ve still got it! This is obviously all a deflection because _you’re_ worn out.”

Smoothie looked at him like he’d just suggested that 9/11 was an inside job. He scoffed, “I’m not the one with a _heart condition_ , Nick. I take care of myself. I’d be more than happy to go again, especially after that last—well—what I _mean_ is that I, for one, am not worn out in the slightest, and would happily—”

“—Shut up and try me, then, asshole,” Nick snapped, reaching out to grab him by the wrist and tug him closer. He pushed the killer up against the tiled wall, pinning him there with his own body, and then gave him a long, aggressive kiss to prove his point. Nick hoped in the back of his mind that he’d actually be _able_ to get it up, after having been so insistent about it; he was certain Smoothie would be unbearably annoying and sarcastic about it if he couldn’t. 

Smoothie was just as aggressive as Nick was, and he wasn’t nearly as kind about it. He let his nails scrape painfully into the hitman’s lower back to pull him in tight, and he only broke the kiss to dig his teeth into one of Nick’s shoulders, intent on leaving a nasty bruise. He could feel Nick buckle and lean into it with a pleasant little sound. It was nice seeing how easily Nick gave in—he didn’t even try to retaliate. He only pressed himself up against Smoothie and enjoyed the attention, running his lips gratefully down the killer’s neck and letting out a low, satisfied sigh. 

“It’s technically your turn,” he said, growling deep in his throat when Smoothie’s teeth broke away sharply from his skin. 

“Mm. Finally settling into my little system?”

“Think you might actually be out of luck this time, unless you keep a whole separate strap-on in every single torture chamber, which seems excessive and expensive.”

“Sadly, you’re right about that. I don’t,” said Smoothie. “Not in this one, at least, this one’s mostly for murder. Like I said.”

“Guess you’ll have to write me an IOU,” Nick suggested. “Unless we come up with something that’ll tick all the same boxes for you.”

“Oh? I’m intrigued.”

Nick reached one hand out to feel the water, which had finally warmed up. He took the bar of soap from Smoothie and wetted it before pushing the killer under the showerhead and rinsing the dried blood off his back. Smoothie let the hitman’s hands clean him off with touches that were a bit too harsh and clumsy, but heartwarming nonetheless. Nick scrubbed his back until he was satisfied with it, then pushed the killer gently up against the wall again to run the bar of soap over his chest. He grumbled something soft while his eyes trailed up and down Smoothie’s body. 

“You look nice,” he said. “Never thought I’d go for someone like you, but I kinda like it.”

“Someone like me?” Smoothie demanded, taking a little bit of offense. 

“Look like the kinda guy I would’ve bullied as a teenager. Little bit scrawny, little bit of a nerd. But you’re real pretty, when you get right down to it, aren’t you?” 

Smoothie scoffed and rolled his eyes in disbelief. “You sound ridiculous.”

“Had nice eyes,” Nick said, looking into the soft brown one. “Shame about the other.”

Smoothie wasn’t sure where all the flattery was going, or why it was so annoyingly effective. He let out another petulant sound while Nick rinsed soap from the front of him with appreciative hands, but he didn’t say anything—Nick was looking at him a bit too softly, touching him a bit too gently, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. It felt uncomfortable only because it was unpredictable; Smoothie normally knew where Nick’s sarcastic comments and more pushy touches were going, but this didn’t feel the same. There was an irritating vulnerability to it. 

That vulnerability grew even more unbearable when Nick leaned down to murmur, “Hey. _Te quiero_ , little bastard.” 

Smoothie wasn’t sure what to say to that, especially because Nick had pronounced it so shoddily, but he managed, “ _Yo también_.” 

“Kinda hot when you talk Spanish.”

“It’s a—nice language,” Smoothie said uncertainly. “Nick, I’m not entirely sure what you—”

“—Get on your knees,” the hitman growled softly into his ear, cutting him off. Smoothie’s first instinct was to protest indignantly, and he had already started to bristle up in preparation for it when he felt Nick’s fingers clip his chin affectionately. The hitman pressed one rough kiss against his jaw, convincing him with a few more of those appreciative touches and a quiet murmur of, “Go on and trust me, baby. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He made a good point; the worst that could happen was a blowjob, and Smoothie was already getting excited about that. He figured it was the least he could do anyway, given how cooperative Nick had been with the kill and how attentive he’d been during their last little romp. He sank down to the tiles like Nick wanted and opened his mouth preemptively to get the hitman ready, only to feel one of those coarse hands stop him. Nick’s fingers found the underside of his chin and tilted his head up, all the better to let him see the hitman smirking down at him. Nick looked terribly tempting like that, Smoothie thought, a little bit hypnotized by the sight—it wasn’t every day that Smoothie felt this desperate to be touched by someone, but he couldn’t help himself. There was a raw, powerful quality to Nick that he found difficult to resist. It was intensely satisfying to subdue it, to subjugate it, to _own_ it the way that he wanted to, but Nick was nothing if not a worthy adversary, and at times it was a challenge—at times, Smoothie even felt like he was _losing_ the subjugation game, which only made him more obsessed with it. 

This was one of those times. 

Smoothie thought about pushing Nick away or doing something vicious to hurt him and take back control, but he didn’t. Maybe he was just distracted by the hitman’s easygoing smirk, or maybe he didn’t really _mind_ giving up the control, just for a few minutes, as a treat. Nick was easy to give in to, after all. 

“You look good down there,” the hitman complimented, giving Smoothie a little pat on the cheek. “Real pretty, just like I thought you’d be.”

Smoothie shook the hitman’s hand from his face and gave him a skeptical look. “Should I be expecting a knife in the back? All the obnoxious flattery’s making me suspicious.”

Nick laughed a bit and ruffled the killer’s hair, which annoyed Smoothie, and then let his other hand drift down between his own legs. He forced Smoothie to look at him again and ignored the flash of irritation in the killer’s eyes. 

“Golden showers aren’t my fuckin’ thing,” Nick said flatly, with no sugar-coating. “So if I were you I’d enjoy it while I had the chance. Dunno if or when you’ll get another.” 

Smoothie’s heart skipped, and for a moment he was _certain_ that the hitman was bluffing, but when Nick’s fingers tightened into his hair to hold him still, he could tell that Nick was dead serious. He tried to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth except for one short, breathless sound of confusion—Nick had mocked him _mercilessly_ for this kink, countless times, right down to the very first day they’d met. When the hitman widened his stance and adjusted the angle of his dick toward Smoothie’s body, it didn’t quite feel _real_ to the killer. It was like something out of one of his most secretive pornographic fantasies, something he never would’ve even dared to ask of Nick for fear of being laughed at again. 

Nick wasn’t used to this, and it took him a minute to get over the weirdness of the whole thing—he wasn’t used to pissing with an audience, much less pissing _on_ someone, and he had to steel himself and try to focus on the sound of the shower. That worked eventually. Nick took aim and let go, bracing his other arm against the tiled wall while Smoothie’s hands clutched at his thighs. 

The list of things that Smoothie liked _submitting_ to was short. Nick Sax in and of himself, although he was still somewhere on the list, didn’t even make the top five; golden showers, however, did. There was something that he loved about how absolute and intimate the degradation of it was. He liked the raw submission of it, and the way it always abruptly shifted the power balance of a room—and, of course, he liked it for all the usual sensual reasons. Not much phased him about the human body, having cut so many of them up so many times that they all just felt like jigsaw puzzles to him now, and he liked the warmth and the salt and all the strange smells and tastes of people. They were the same things he liked most about driving a knife into someone, or sawing off bits and pieces of Blue’s enemies. He’d always liked the sight and smell of anxious sweat on the back of the neck of whatever poor, doomed snitch Blue delivered up to his cruel hands, and he could remember even now how mesmerizing the coppery salt of Nick’s blood on his lips had tasted, that first night that they ever crossed paths. He’d always assumed that that one memory of Nick’s hot blood splashed across his face would be the closest he’d ever get to _watersports_ with the hitman.

That assumption had been wrong, apparently—his breath hissed in sharply through his teeth when he felt the stream make contact with the front of his chest, which Nick had just so diligently rinsed off with soap and water. The warmth made him seek out more of Nick’s body heat, made him pull at the hitman’s thighs and hips with eager hands. He did whatever he wanted, since Nick didn’t seem inclined to ruin his fun. Leaning into one of his lifelong favorite fetishes was easy enough. 

Nick was actually surprised about how conflicted his feelings were about it. He’d never been joking any of the times that he made fun of Smoothie’s interest in piss kink. He’d always been dead serious. Plus, he had to admit that it felt a _little_ bit weird seeing Smoothie so content to let him be in charge, without the killer even putting up a fight for it—Smoothie was usually so controlling and so keen to keep Nick under his thumb. Seeing him give that up without a struggle or at the very least a snide comment was odd, but Nick definitely wasn’t complaining. Smoothie looked nice on his knees, after all, and he was pretty clearly having the time of his life. That much was unmistakable. When the killer eased in closer to welcome the golden stream into his hair and over his face, he let out one of the softest and most distinctly submissive sounds Nick had ever heard in his life. Nick was ambivalent at best about the kink itself, but he _did_ like that sound a lot more than he’d been expecting to; he wouldn’t have minded hearing it again, even though Smoothie only offered it up once. 

It was short-lived, since Nick hadn’t exactly been throwing back gallons of water lately; probably no more than ten seconds, with a bit of extra time tacked onto the end while Nick shook out those last few drops. He’d only just finished when he felt Smoothie’s skin against his own, those lips already brushing up against the root of his cock while Smoothie nestled his cheek in against Nick’s hip. The killer let out a little sigh that sounded more dazed and devoted than it did satisfied. He ran one of his hands through his hair and his tongue across his top lip before turning his complete attention to Nick. He wasn’t about to let the fulfilled fantasy go unrewarded. 

“Yep, figured you’d like that,” Nick managed when he felt Smoothie start in with a handful of lingering kisses against the crease of his hip. A quick, energetic little swirl of the killer’s tongue against his skin made Nick lose his breath for a second. “Oh? You’re gonna— _Ooh_. Okay, must’ve _really_ liked that.”

Smoothie hadn’t been this luxurious with him before, not even when Nick had behaved himself. He couldn’t even feel the killer’s teeth this time, or the cruel rake of his fingernails; he could only feel the soft, slick sensation of Smoothie’s tongue. The idea of wanting to wash Smoothie off first flickered through his mind, but he abandoned it soon enough. It was probably better to just let Smoothie have this one, especially since he seemed to be having so much fun, and there’d be more than enough soap to make up for it afterward. Besides, Nick thought it would be in poor taste to interrupt such a particularly _considerate_ blowjob in the making. He could feel Smoothie’s lips working their leisurely way down over his balls. The killer was taking his sweet time to encourage Nick’s dick to attention, focusing his efforts on trying to turn Nick on rather than just getting him hard for the sake of a quick blow. Nick liked how explorative the other man’s mouth had become, how slowly and keenly Smoothie’s tongue felt out his skin. 

Smoothie left no part of him untouched. He was terribly precise about that. He’d already traversed the seam of Nick’s scrotum to lap at the loose skin at the back and let his tongue graze the sensitive rim of the hitman’s asshole by the time he decided that Nick was ready. The hitman’s cock was rock hard by now, and he could feel Nick’s fingers combing greedily through his hair, even despite the lingering evidence of the golden shower. 

Smoothie was happy to pull out all of the stops this time—he looked up to catch the hitman’s eye while his lips traced the shaft, and then he wasted no time in swallowing Nick whole. Nick was big enough to make it uncomfortable, and the angle wasn’t ideal, but Smoothie was nothing if not committed to the project. He forced his own throat to relax until his lips met the unruly hair between Nick’s thighs. Nick let out one exaggerated growl of relief in response. 

“Guess you liked that a whole _fuckin’_ lot,” he managed through his teeth, astounded by the sensation of Smoothie working him in and out deeper than anyone had ever managed before. It was delightfully distracting enough to put the whole golden shower out of his mind—he tried to keep his hips still, but that was difficult with Smoothie picking up an irresistible rhythm. Under normal circumstances Nick probably would’ve reached the peak in under a minute, overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling Smoothie’s throat open up for him, but he’d had more sex in the past few days than he’d had in the past year at least—that helped him last longer, since he wasn’t quite as sensitive as usual. It was nice being able to _really_ enjoy it without worrying about ejaculating too quickly. It was even nicer getting to watch Smoothie, who looked up at him every now and again with that shock red eye. Smoothie would hold his gaze for a few moments, let out a low sound of satisfaction more for Nick’s benefit than his own, and then dive right back into the deluxe treatment without wasting time. 

Needless to say, Nick found the whole experience spectacular. It had been a long time since anyone had paid him _this_ much attention, since anyone had looked or sounded this enthusiastic about his dick. The self-esteem boost of it all was just as pleasurable as the way Smoothie’s tongue slid up and down his shaft. 

He remembered all of those comments Smoothie had made last time about _skullfucking_ and liking things _rough_ , and the temptation to lean into that was irresistible, especially since Nick could feel the first stirrings of orgasm building in the pit of his groin already. He tracked his fingers across the killer’s skull and then tightened them at the back; Smoothie let out one terribly eager sound in response and clutched at his thighs even harder. That was as close to a “Yes” as he could manage with Nick’s cock still stuffed in his mouth, so Nick took it as permission to go further. 

The rush of power was phenomenal; dangerously so. When he applied a bit of force to the back of the killer’s head—not too much, just enough to ease him into it—and held Smoothie down to choke him a little, he couldn’t deny the thrill of enjoyment it gave him. He rocked his hips into the killer’s mouth and felt Smoothie’s grip on him tighten even further in desperation. It was clear that Smoothie loved it; Nick could tell by the way he opened up and relaxed even more, the way that he leaned so eagerly into letting Nick use him. When Nick pulled back to let him breathe, the killer rewarded him with a long and greedy moan. 

“Dunno how long you can hold your breath, but let me guess—you don’t mind choking,” Nick said with a good-natured shrug. The eager gleam in Smoothie’s eye told him he was right, so he pushed the killer back down onto his length and let himself enjoy it with a few nice, deliberate thrusts. Smoothie’s practiced attention had been incredible enough, but _this_ felt even better. Nick could set whatever pace he wanted. Smoothie went along with all of it, even when Nick tightened his grip and held him down, forcing him to stay still and let Nick enjoy the pressure. Nick let him catch his breath afterwards, but never for long—pushing himself back in to feel the hot, slick grip of the killer’s throat again was too tempting to wait for. At one point he felt Smoothie swallow around him, which was enough to make him let out a string of ecstatic swears; _that_ brought him to the edge quicker than he’d hoped. He couldn’t help himself; he dug his nails insistently into the back of Smoothie’s head until he felt it again. The pressure and sensation were overwhelming. He couldn’t keep Smoothie’s name off his tongue, especially when he felt himself getting painfully close, and he barely managed to grind out the words, “Almost— _almost_ there, baby.”

He didn’t even have to force Smoothie down this time. The killer took him in and did everything in his power to bring Nick to completion, using every trick up his sleeve. His efforts were rewarded soon enough; Nick let out all of the breath in his lungs in a rush of grateful curses when he came, and he clutched Smoothie closer with one hand while he braced himself against the wall to keep himself upright. The sensation of shooting his load straight down the killer’s throat was unparalleled. It felt as good as a perfect kill shot right between the eyes. It felt even more satisfying than revenge would have been—easily more satisfying than tearing Smoothie’s head from his shoulders, like Nick had planned to do originally. He gave Smoothie everything, until he was completely spent, and Smoothie took it all as eagerly as ever. 

When it was over, Nick pulled his length from the killer’s mouth with a long sigh of relief. He ran his fingers through Smoothie’s hair and then gave him an affectionate little pat on the cheek, grazing his thumb over the killer’s lips while he looked down at him. Smoothie was still distracted, laying greedy kisses over the arch of the hitman’s hip. 

“Fan- _fucking_ -tastic,” Nick sighed, without bothering to mask the warmth that had crept into his voice. He felt Smoothie smile against his skin. 

Nick wrangled the killer under the shower head with insistent hands and scrubbed at him with the bar of soap to his satisfaction before pulling Smoothie up against his chest to kiss him. Every touch felt affectionate—even Smoothie’s hands drifting lazily across Nick’s chest felt affectionate, lacking their usual abject cruelty. There seemed to be no end to the number of small, contented sounds Smoothie let out against the hitman’s lips. 

“You’ve outdone yourself today,” he said eventually. He snatched the bar of soap from Nick’s fingers and moved it over the hitman’s body, admiring him as he went. 

“Maybe that’ll convince you not to shove another goddamn needle in my ass,” Nick snorted. 

“Mm. I’m convinced,” Smoothie agreed, much to the hitman’s surprise. “No more needles.”

“Guaranteed?”

“Guaranteed.” 

“Feels like maybe I deserve to know how to actually say _motherfucker_ in Spanish at this point.”

“Ah. Of course,” Smoothie agreed again, with a little nod of acquiescence. “That one is _te amo_.”

“Sure about that?”

“Mmhmm. As you know, my translations are exceptionally trustworthy.”

Nick let out a scoff. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it, asshole.”

Smoothie only smirked and rinsed him off with a few delicate touches. The hitman could hardly keep from kissing him, and didn’t look willing to take his hands off of Smoothie’s waist for even an instant. Once he’d been washed thoroughly enough, Smoothie turned off the shower and fetched a couple of towels from the locker next to the door. Nick ruffled the killer’s hair with one hand obnoxiously until Smoothie let out an irritated sound and pushed him off. 

“Heading back to that hotel, then?” Nick asked, shaking his hair dry like a sheepdog before toweling it off. “Or should I go curl up in one of the dumpsters outside, now that I’m all freshened up?”

“Technically still entitled to the room, check-out isn’t until noon tomorrow. It’s late, and a real bed _would_ be nice,” Smoothie noted. Nick watched him carefully unfold his clothes to put them back on and thought about how nice it would feel to _actually_ snuggle up with him, without the pretext of hating each other—the idea of it made him feel a little bit warm and cozy inside, which he knew was ridiculous. Associating Smoothie with anything cozy was probably a sign of insanity. 

Smoothie was meticulous about checking their clothes over for blood before leaving, and about washing down all of his tools. Like most of the killers that Nick had encountered back in his days working homicide, Smoothie was also problematically fond of souvenirs—he tucked his little stack of incriminating Polaroid photos into the inside pocket of his blazer. 

“Walking around with enough evidence to put either or both of us away for life, you know,” Nick commented when Smoothie shrugged the blazer on and adjusted his cuffs. “You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes without the mob. Do you know how easy it is for any detective worth his badge to catch a guy who prances around like you do, actin’ like he’s got no fingerprints or paper trails?”

“Doesn’t seem difficult,” Smoothie said with a little wink of his rabbit eye. “You seem to have managed _catching_ me in no time flat.”

“I could use you as the perfect example of how _not_ to be a good serial killer.”

“Please. There are much better ways to use me.”

“You’re… _damn_ right about that,” Nick admitted finally. 

Getting a ride back to the hotel didn’t take terribly long, though Smoothie insisted on walking a few blocks first so as to distance themselves from the scene of the crime. It had gotten quite late—the day had been long, even though they hadn’t made much progress aside from the acquisition of firearms. Both of them forgave themselves for that. The newfound fondness for one another had distracted them, and neither of the two could blame themselves for it. Nick, for one, thought it had been one of the most productive days of the past decade; but to be fair, Nick only felt that way because he’d gotten so much attention below the belt today. Smoothie considered the day a success, too, for a myriad of slightly more complex reasons—most of them having to do with his intimate fascination with Nick Sax, and some of them having to do with the peculiarities of his own body. 

By the time both of them settled into the hotel bed, things felt calm and strangely simple. There was a strange edge to the stillness. It still felt like both of them were _waiting_ for the other shoe to drop, Nick realized; for the inevitable betrayal, or for things to take a dark turn in the hunt for Orcus. Nick thought about the guns in the pockets of his overcoat, and the polaroids hidden away in Smoothie’s blazer. Neither of the two men were the spitting image of mental health or trustworthiness; that much was obvious. There _had_ to be something terrible waiting at the end of this entanglement. Nick was certain of it. 

Still, when he rolled over to get comfortable among the hotel sheets and pillows, he couldn’t help but reach out to pull Smoothie in closer to him. Even if there was some sort of miserable death waiting for him at the end of all this, he wanted to enjoy the fact that at least for now he had someone to hold. 

Smoothie didn’t mind letting Nick pull him in. He was comfortable enough using the hitman as a pillow. Nick was warm and durable, after all. 

“Might be smart to hit up old contacts,” Nick said, his mind on the case again. “Mob, maybe NYPD, even. Figure out if anyone new’s been operating in Manhattan since Easter, and if they’re on Orcus’s payroll. Someone close to him must know what he’s up to. Gods gotta have people who worship ‘em, I think.”

Smoothie shrugged. “I’ll make some calls.”

“Got a handful of people I can ask, too. Wonder if Merry’s still on the case.”

Nick felt Smoothie stiffen uncomfortably at the mention of Merry—he’d forgotten that Smoothie wasn’t exactly a fan of her. He looked down at the killer and grumbled, “Not gonna _ask_ her. Just—wondering out loud. You get me. Couldn’t ask her if I wanted to, on account of the whole being dead thing.” 

“Hmm.”

“Doubt she’s on it anyway. Taking care of a ten year old,” Nick said, averting his eyes to stare up at the ceiling again. He thought about that for a while, and then felt Smoothie lean in a little to say something quietly into his ear. 

“Eleven,” the killer reminded him. 

“Goddammit,” said Nick. 

“Would’ve expected you to jump at the chance to tell them you’re alive.” 

“Nah. They were doing fine before I came along, and look at where they are now. Amanda, Hailey, Merry. I fucked everything up for all three of ‘em. They’re all better off without me in the picture,” Nick sighed gruffly. He closed his eyes. “Just like Amanda told me it would be.”

Smoothie either wasn’t sure how to comfort him or didn’t care enough about it to do so. He only yawned and gave Nick one patronizing little pat on the chest. 

“Probably better off,” he said in the light, convincing tone he always used when he was lying. He wasn’t lying about what he said next; “Besides, I’d sooner kill you than let you go, tiger.”

“Mutual,” Nick confirmed. 

“Mm.”

“Might kill you anyway just for the sake of it.”

“Fine,” Smoothie sighed fondly before closing his eyes. “Just save it until the morning.”

Nick thought that was fair.

***

For the first time ever, Nick woke up to find Smoothie still laying in bed beside him. The killer’s back was to him, and Smoothie was still fast asleep, breathing softly and silently. He didn’t wake up when Nick stirred, or when one of Nick’s hands moved over his shoulder to feel the warmth of it. Nick’s fingers traced the lines of an early-morning sunbeam that had fallen across the killer’s skin from the window. 

His touches grew gradually more interested as the minutes ticked by. Smoothie was easy to admire, and Nick found that he liked mapping out the skin of the other man’s back with his hands, exploring every little bump along the ridge of his spine from the neck to the tailbone. It felt good to know that _this_ was someone he could touch whenever he wanted to—without paying for it, without feeling guilty, without being rejected. He wasn’t used to having that. 

Smoothie finally _did_ wake up when Nick wound one arm around him and pulled him in close to sigh sleepily into the crook of his neck. Nick heard the killer’s voice, quiet and clear. 

“Being _taller_ doesn’t automatically make you the big spoon,” he said sharply. 

“Good morning to you, too, asshole.”

Smoothie scowled at the wall and rolled his eyes in annoyance, then batted Nick’s arm away and twisted to face him, readjusting himself among the pillows. He wrinkled his nose a bit, not used to the early-morning closeness. 

“Your breath is miserable,” he said while Nick’s arms coiled around him again insistently. “Filthy.”

“Shut up. Not invested in the hygiene advice of the pee-pee guy.”

Smoothie’s scowl deepened. “I thought you were _done_ making fun of me for—”

“—Nah, you don’t get off that easy,” Nick grumbled sleepily. “Still gonna heckle you. Heckling’s my whole thing, consider it one of those, y’know, love languages or whatever the fuck.”

That was a good enough answer for Smoothie, who still scowled, but let his fingers comb contemplatively through the hair of Nick’s chest anyway. It was _nice_ , laying in Nick’s arms like this without any rush to leave. It was even nicer than he’d expected. He looked over at the clock on the bedside table and said, “There’s still breakfast downstairs.”

“I’d kill for breakfast right now. Although to be fair I’ve killed people for less,” Nick noted. “Not sure I wanna get up yet, though.”

“No?”

“Kinda nice, having a lazy morning. Don’t mind the view,” said the hitman with a small, crooked smile, clipping Smoothie’s chin with a few fingers. He let his hand drift over the killer’s cheek and up into his hair. He could feel scars across the temple on the right side of Smoothie’s skull, where the bullet wound had been patched up and the rabbit eye had been put in. Nick traced each one of them with the calloused pad of his thumb. It was clear that Smoothie liked that; he let his eyes close and settled closer to the hitman. 

“I missed this,” Nick said, half to himself. His voice was low, hardly even a mumble.

“Mm?”

“Been a long time since I woke up next to anyone.”

It had been a _very_ long time, in fact—eleven years. Nick’s semi-frequent visits to strip bars and brothels had never resulted in anyone staying the night. He was much too cheap for that. The last person Nick had woken up in bed beside had been Amanda, back before she left him. He and Merry had never been _cuddly_ enough with one another to ever get a full night’s sleep in the same bed. Waking up with Smoothie in his arms was even more pleasant than Nick had expected; he was warm and easy to hold, and Nick found that he was nice to look at, especially up close. Even though the killer’s eyes were a little bit cold and hollow, Nick liked the fact that he was free to gaze into them. The rabbit eye was weird, but strangely pretty, and the regular one was a deep, dark shade of brown that Nick especially liked. It was surprisingly easy to get lost in. 

Smoothie must have felt the same way, because his stare was silent and unwavering. 

“Thought I was gonna kill you,” Nick admitted, still tracing the scars across the killer’s face. “Really did. Thought about it every morning and night. Thought about you. Couldn’t quite get you out of my mind, ever since I found out that the bullet hadn’t killed you. Felt like the worst hangover of my life. Couldn’t shake it.”

Smoothie gave him one long, eerie look. Nick had been expecting him to smile, but he didn’t; he frowned instead. 

“I never meant to,” he said at length. “Kill you, I mean.”

“Sure you did.”

“No,” said Smoothie with a disdainful little sigh. He plucked absentmindedly at the hair of the hitman’s chest. “Had something much worse in mind. Thought we would watch your daughter kill a man on live television, watch the police take her away, and then I’d drag you back home to really rub it in. Lock you up somewhere inescapable. Make you watch every minute of it—the news footage, the trial, everything. You would have begged me to kill you eventually, but I wouldn’t have done it. Would’ve kept you for as long as I could. It _really_ would have been the highlight of my criminal career.” 

“I’m almost flattered,” said Nick, disgusted. 

“Mm,” said Smoothie contemplatively. “You were always going to be stuck with me, one way or another. It was inevitable.”

“Right, right, all your _destiny_ shit.” 

“Is that so difficult to believe? Such skepticism, from a man who claims to have seen the afterlife.”

That was a good point, one that Nick wasn’t really able to argue with. He settled for grumbling under his breath and pulling Smoothie closer, burying the killer’s face in the crook of his neck and giving him one long, powerful squeeze. Smoothie tolerated it for a few moments, but then pushed him away. 

“Come on. No more laying around. I could eat a horse,” Smoothie declared, throwing the covers off and leaving the bed quickly and decisively. Nick resented being made to think about horses again. He also resented the fact that Smoothie was no longer crushed up against him, but his stomach was growling enough to convince him not to drag Smoothie back to bed. Nick got up and dressed himself, and wouldn’t have bothered to brush his teeth or comb his hair if Smoothie hadn’t been so insistent about it. When Nick looked at himself in the mirror afterwards, he realized that he looked different—still shaggy and dangerous and not to be fucked with, but _cleaner_ , at least. Smoothie, on the other hand, looked a bit less put together than normal; the knot of his tie wasn’t quite perfect today, a little bit haphazard instead, and he hadn’t cleaned his fingernails as meticulously as usual. 

The hotel coffee was barely passable, but it did the job well enough, as did the complimentary breakfast. The two of them split up afterwards, Nick using the hotel phone to hit up a few old contacts while Smoothie did the same with his cell, and then they reconvened on the sidewalk outside. It was a particularly chilly day, and Smoothie didn’t have a heavy coat like Nick did, so the hitman pulled off his scarf and threw it around Smoothie’s neck to warm him up a bit. 

“Got a hit on something,” Nick said. “One of Blue’s old bodyguards—says he shared a cell with one of Orcus’s top guys at Rikers, years ago. The guy hit him up recently for work. Sketchy shipping operation, said he thought it was drugs or arms, but it ended up being somethin’ else. Museum artifacts or some shit. Said he was too superstitious to go through with it. The vibe was off.”

“ _More_ superstitions?” Smoothie asked skeptically.

“The job paid pretty big, he said. Must be important to Orcus.”

“What’s your recommendation, then, detective?”

“Easy. We scope out the operation, learn what we can. If we can get one of his men, we drag ‘em back to your place. Figure out what they know. Gotta be someone who knows how to take the fucker down.”

Smoothie wasn’t sure about how smart the idea was. “Seems unpredictable.”

“Life’s unpredictable.”

“Seems dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“True,” said Smoothie. “But you’d be going in blind. Don’t know anything about how much manpower he’s got.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds like you’re a little bit _worried_ about me,” Nick said with a smirk. “Scared that _death_ might _do us part_?” 

Smoothie looked genuinely concerned for a moment and then said, “Yes. If anyone gets to kill you, by all rights it should be me.”

“You got dibs?”

“I have dibs, yes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, then, put some effort into not dying on the job,” Nick laughed. “But seriously, I’m not worried about it. One shipping operation? One warehouse? I got two guns. Sounds like a breeze.”

Smoothie thought about offering to go with him, but he knew that he’d only get in Nick’s way—the hitman’s ability to hold his own in a fight was legendary, after all. Nick could take care of himself. It was strange, having someone to _worry_ over. Smoothie wasn’t used to being concerned with someone else’s safety. 

“So look, here’s how we’re gonna do this,” Nick said, sensing the other man’s hesitation and leaning in to give him one firm, encouraging pat on the cheek. “We’re gonna go get your car, head out to the address. Just gonna scope the place out real quick. Then you’re gonna park somewhere a few blocks away, keep the engine running, and wait for me to call you for an extraction. Yeah?”

“Ought to set a time limit,” Smoothie said. “Twenty minutes or something.”

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever floats your boat. We’ll figure it out when we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

That seemed to be enough of a plan for both of them to move forward with. It was a bit of a walk back to Smoothie’s car, but it felt good to warm up with a walk in the late October chill. Nick’s arm slipped comfortably around the killer’s waist as if it were second nature to him. This time he felt Smoothie return the gesture, which came as a surprise; it was only something small, but to Nick it felt significant. 

When they got back to the car, Nick plugged the address into Smoothie’s GPS. It was a quick drive, only twenty minutes or so, and Smoothie still looked wary about it. After buckling his seatbelt he opened the glove compartment on Nick’s side and took out a capped syringe, loaded with some sort of thick liquid. He handed it to Nick cap first. 

“This was in case I needed to put you down,” he said by way of explanation. “But if you get into any _trouble_ —”

“—I have two guns,” Nick reminded him. 

“Right, but still, I’d feel better.”

“I have two guns,” Nick repeated, raising one eyebrow and giving the killer a look of disbelief. “But you’d feel better if I had horse tranquilizer?”

“Oh, no,” said Smoothie. “I meant put you down _permanently_. It’s not horse tranquilizer. It’s Batrachotoxin.” 

“What?”

“Poison,” Smoothie simplified. “It’s poison.”

“Aw, babe, that was for me? I’m hurt,” Nick snorted, grimacing at the syringe while he turned it over in his hands to examine it. “Thought you’d do me better than that. Somethin’ a little bit handsy, at least.” 

“I know,” said Smoothie, as if he were genuinely apologizing for something. He looked at the hitman longingly and trailed his eyes over Nick’s body, then followed it all up with a wistful little sigh. “I would never have forgiven myself for passing that up. Glad to have the option off the table. You deserve better.”

“Right, you and me both,” Nick agreed sarcastically. He fiddled with the syringe—the cap had a safety lock on it, as did the plunger. It looked like it would be a hassle to deal with in combat, even if it made for a quick and stealthy takedown. Nick slid it into his coat pocket anyway to make Smoothie feel better. Even if he didn’t end up needing it, it was worth it to see the killer relax a little bit about the whole plan. He gave Smoothie one more comforting little pat and said, “I’ll be fine, this’ll be a goddamn cakewalk. Just drive.”

Smoothie obliged. They were mostly quiet in the car, apart from Nick grumbling about the route and offering a few backseat driver opinions, the way anyone who’d driven a cab in New York before would do. He noticed that Smoothie still looked anxious, which was a little bit adorable coming from the man who’d once rigged an entire building with C4 just to see if Nick would be able to outrun an explosion. 

The warehouse itself was smaller than expected, with one door in the back and one large loading dock at the front near the Hudson. There were shipping crates stacked outside, and Nick only saw one guard at the front, who didn’t have any form of rifle on him—if he was armed, it was only with a hidden, holstered handgun. The guard eyed their car when it went by, but didn’t seem too interested. It was clear that no one in the building was anticipating any sort of raid. That made Nick even more suspicious about what might be inside. 

“Not too much muscle,” he said, while they continued past the warehouse and down a few blocks, where Smoothie parked beside an old concrete pier. “Wonder what they got in there that ain’t worth stealing.”

Smoothie didn’t look convinced. His red eye twitched uncomfortably in the socket and he knocked it still with one little bonk to his temple with the heel of his hand. Finally he looked back at Nick, frowning. His voice was quick and insistent, as if he were spitting out an order instead of a request. “Be _careful_.” 

Nick sighed gruffly. “Relax. Keep your phone on. If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, then I’m hamburger meat and you can run along back upstate, pretend this never happened.”

Smoothie stared at him, still looking dissatisfied with the whole thing. Finally he reached over to undo Nick’s seatbelt, fumbling with it for a few seconds before grabbing the hitman’s coat to pull him into a kiss. It felt aggressive, and a little bit desperate. 

He broke it off emphatically and then said, “Twenty minutes. If I don’t hear anything then I’ll—do something. I’ll come find you.”

“Don’t bother. No sense in us both sloughin’ off the mortal coil.”

“I’ll come find you,” Smoothie repeated, in a voice that indicated his mind was already made up. Nick thought about convincing him how stupid that idea was, but there was no sense in arguing—Smoothie looked like he’d be stubborn about it, and Nick didn’t feel like wasting the time.

“Whatever,” the hitman said, trying to ignore the implications of Smoothie being willing to follow him into a hail of bullets. “Die however you want, I won’t be around to stop you if worst comes to worst.”

Nick opened the car door, then paused halfway out of the vehicle and backpedaled, sitting back down and pulling the Desert Eagle out of his coat pocket. He’d already loaded the magazine, but the safety was still on, so he clicked it off before leaning in to meet Smoothie’s gaze again. He gestured vaguely with the gun, pointing the muzzle through the back window of the car when he raised it. 

“Kiss for good luck?” he requested with a raunchy grin, offering the barrel of the weapon up to Smoothie’s lips. The killer’s eyes flashed down to it. Nick could see the familiar flush working its way across his neck and face already, and Smoothie let out one small, indecent sound as his eyes traversed the barrel of the gun. 

“Of course,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. He leaned in to press his lips against the cold steel and tried not to think _too_ hard about how excited that made him—he couldn’t tell whether it was because Nick was about to wreak havoc with the weapon or whether it was because kissing the steel barrel of the gun made Smoothie want his lips somewhere _else_. Nick watched him with a self-indulgent grin plastered across his face.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said amicably. He slipped the gun back into his pocket and gave Smoothie a real kiss, reveling in the fact that he could still feel a touch of cold against Smoothie’s lips from where the metal had made contact. He leaned into it, since there was at least a _slim_ chance that he could die—having one more nice, long kiss before he kicked the bucket was more than Nick had ever expected for himself. When he finally put a stop to it, he could feel Smoothie lingering there nervously as if he were going to call the whole operation off. 

Instead the killer only brushed one hand over Nick’s grizzled cheek again and said, “Remember to bring one back if you’re able.”

“You got it.”

With that, Nick left the car. 

He was excited about the opportunity to raise hell; he didn’t bother shaming himself for that. He could already feel himself getting amped up for the destruction. Nick hadn’t gotten to kick any ass in months—it was in his nature, and denying that nature for so long had left him itching for violence. Taking his aggression out on Smoothie wasn’t quite as satisfying as it had been initially, now that he was getting attached. It would be good to vent some of the pent-up energy. 

He went around the back of the warehouse to catch the guard outside unawares. Nick wasn’t exactly stealthy, but he was fast, and he hit hard enough that the guard didn’t stand a chance; one sharp pistol-whip dropped him unconscious, and Nick broke his neck with a quick twist after that. He wasn’t interested in taking any chances or leaving any survivors to report back to Orcus. 

He cracked open the door on one side of the loading bay and poked his head inside, listening for any indication of how many men were in the building. There was a bit of noise, a handful of voices, but the warehouse didn’t sound crowded. 

Nick entered cautiously, drawing one gun instead of both to keep his accuracy intact. 

Stacks of shipping crates lined the front of the warehouse, and the voices were emanating from the back; Nick could make out three distinct vocal tones. He moved quickly, ducking between the shipping crates to check each row for unseen guards, but he found none. Finally he slipped through the rows of crates with extra caution to approach the back of the warehouse. 

The back was full of wooden boxes stacked as high as the crates. Nick could see three men examining the contents of a crate on a long steel table near the back, and two men behind them with guns, keeping lookout. 

He smirked. This was going to be _easy_. It would be a nice warmup, after having been out of the game for so long. A quick scan of the scene was enough for Nick to know where to start. 

He raised the Desert Eagle and took aim at one of the armed men in the back. It was a perfect shot, well within range and with a clean view of the target, practically gift-wrapped. Nick let out one long, grateful sigh before taking it, just to appreciate being back in the saddle again. 

There was instant chaos when the first shot rang out. The three men at the table hit the floor immediately, scrambling for cover, and the other guard was already dead by the time he even drew his gun—the sight line was clear, and Nick hadn’t gotten any slower since Easter. He lunged out from behind the row of shipping containers and took out two of the men on the floor almost effortlessly as he drew his other weapon, then leveled both guns at the last one, who was busy crawling backward, trying to reach cover behind one of the wooden boxes. The man cringed and held up his hands to ward Nick off, expecting a shot. 

“It’s your lucky day, buddy,” Nick said with a grin, his finger still on both triggers. “Or, well. At least for right now. Actually, might _not_ be your lucky day. Might be the unluckiest one of the bunch, if I’m bein’ totally honest. But that’s neither here nor there.”

“I—have money,” the man tried.

“Sure, sure. You can tell me all about it later. Pretty sure you’re gonna tell me a _lot_.”

Nick reached down and grabbed the man by the front of the shirt, then cracked his head back against one of the nearby wooden crates to knock him out. He dropped like a rock. 

“Literally easier than taking candy from a baby,” Nick snorted, shaking his head and dragging the unconscious man to the steel table with him to scour through the open crate. He expected to find guns hidden somewhere in there, or at least a few pounds of cocaine. Instead he found himself rummaging through a crate of old Roman and Mesopotamian earthenware idols. 

“The fuck _is_ all of this?” he grumbled. He picked up one of the idols and examined it, turning it over in his hands. He dropped the unconscious man and slipped his gun back into his pocket to dig through the crate. He found a collection of vases underneath the idols, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. Finally he gave up and pulled out his cell phone to give Smoothie a call. 

The killer answered after one ring. 

“Hey. Place was practically empty, babe, get on over here. Got you a present and everything.”

Smoothie sounded relieved on the other end of the line and tried to hide it. “Oh? Perfect. Yes. Perfect. Be right there.”

He was there within five minutes. Nick was in the middle of opening another crate with a crowbar he found elsewhere in the warehouse by the time Smoothie poked his head in through the door. The killer cast his eyes around briefly, locked on to Nick, and then crossed the room at a brisk pace. 

“Let’s go. Dangerous to hang around. Stop wasting time,” he chastised, watching Nick root through the crate. He didn’t look remotely interested in the strange artifacts. 

“Look at this stuff. Must be important to him for a reason, right?”

“Nonsense. Would’ve been better guarded if it mattered. Come on, now. Chop chop.”

“Just hang on a sec,” Nick growled. He slipped a few of the smaller artifacts into his coat, then shoved a vase and stone idol into Smoothie’s hands. “Hold that. I’ll get the guy.”

“We don’t need any of this.”

“Might be a clue. Might help us figure out what he’s up to and how to stop it,” Nick insisted, lugging the unconscious henchman over his shoulder. “Detective work? Ever heard of it?”

“What I’ve _heard_ is that we’re trespassing, and you’ve murdered five men,” said Smoothie impatiently. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing in this world that I find more exciting than that, but I’ll have to wait until later to _congratulate_ you properly for it. Now come on. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the door, and Nick followed along. 

Smoothie’s trunk already had all the necessary trappings for kidnapping—duct tape, mostly, and a bottle full of benzodiazepine pills, one of which he forced down the unconscious man’s throat after binding up his wrists and ankles. He followed that up with another layer of tape around the man’s mouth in case he woke up on the car ride back, and a blindfold that he cinched tight. Nick watched him tie the knot and grumbled under his breath, wondering how out of line it would be to ask Smoothie to do that same thing to him later—the idea sent a weird, pleasant little tingle down his spine. 

Once Smoothie had closed the trunk with the captive man inside, Nick caught him by the waist and pushed him back against the car. 

“Nick,” the killer snapped, squirming in his grip and trying to push him away. “There isn’t _time_.”

“Hush,” Nick said easily. He pressed Smoothie against the trunk with firm, hungry hands and nuzzled at his jaw. The killer still tensed up in irritation, but his hands clutched inadvertently at the front of Nick’s sweater. Nick smiled when he felt it. “Mm. Liked seeing those guys bleedin’ out on the floor, didn’t you?”

“No _time_.”

“Relax. Bet you loved it. Bet you can hardly wait to get your hands on me after that.” Nick said into his ear, light and teasing. He could tell it was true; he could feel Smoothie’s grip tightening, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, there we go. Figured as much. You can’t resist it.”

“Can’t blame me for appreciating a job well done,” Smoothie said through his teeth, trying to make it clear how annoyed he was by the delay. 

“Wanna know what I appreciated?”

“Not right now, I don’t.” 

“Watchin’ you worry that pretty little head over little old me,” said Nick with a grin. “Never thought I’d see the day. Got it pretty bad, don’t you? _Really_ got the hots for me. More than you’d even admit, isn’t that right?”

“We can have this conversation somewhere else.”

“Talkin’ _Spanish_ and shit.”

“Nick,” said Smoothie sharply. “Somewhere else.”

“Fine. Gonna have it, though. Might have to have _you_ right after.” 

Smoothie pushed him away and pointedly loosened his tie to unbutton his top button and cool off, glaring all the while, before hurrying to the driver’s seat. The scarlet flush across his throat and face still hadn’t died down completely by the time Nick started buckling his own seatbelt, but Smoothie put the vehicle in drive anyway and sped off, eager to get away from the scene of the crime. Nick liked seeing him flustered; it made him feel like he’d won the game, somehow, like he was in control. Besides, he thought the blush was adorable and a little bit charming. The red brought out Smoothie’s eyes—well, _one_ of them, at least. 

The taste of violence had emboldened him, and Nick found himself staring at Smoothie the entire ride back, fantasizing about blindfolds and how nice Smoothie’s lips had looked against the barrel of his gun. Smoothie caught him staring, but he kept his eyes on the road and stayed silent. He knew that if he indulged Nick now, they’d get too distracted to make any progress with the actual _work_ —Nick might’ve been content to let things slide, but Smoothie was at least _trying_ to stay on track. That was difficult to do with Nick’s eyes undressing him silently from the passenger’s seat. 

They reached the torture chamber soon enough, the one housed deep inside the abandoned Italian restaurant. Smoothie backed the car into a narrow driveway on the left side of the building, and Nick fetched their hostage from the trunk while Smoothie unlocked a side door leading through the abandoned kitchen of the restaurant. Nick trudged up the stairs ahead of Smoothie, going right for the torture chamber. 

It was still dark when he walked in. He didn’t know where the light switch was, and the room smelled different—he could hear something scratching from the other side, and remembered abruptly that there was someone else _in_ here already. 

When Smoothie finally joined him and turned on the lights, Nick spotted a man shackled to the wall on the other side of the room. There was a dark hood over his head, as if he were going to the gallows, and he was yanking ceaselessly at the restraints, wrists red and raw from his useless attempts to escape. The sight of him made Nick’s stomach turn. 

Nick dumped the unconscious hostage on the floor, drew one of his guns, and immediately shot the man on the other side of the room dead—he heard Smoothie let out an infuriated, offended little gasp immediately afterwards. 

Smoothie sputtered for a moment, then flew to the other side of the room to see if the damage was as bad as it looked. He slapped at the dead man’s face to try to coax him back to consciousness and then found the bullet’s exit wound, scanning it for a moment before turning back to Nick and snapping, “How _dare_ you!” 

“Come on, I got you a new one.”

“I was _working_ on this one!” 

“Well, now you can work on this one,” Nick said, kicking the man on the floor gently. “One that isn’t a random bystander? One that actually got in our way? Y’know, ethics, or whatever?”

Smoothie scowled at him, turning the head of the corpse to examine the bullet’s exit wound again. He grumbled something mean under his breath. 

“Oh, come on, you’re not _that_ mad,” Nick snorted. He dragged the hostage after him and dumped him near one of the ugly, metal pieces of furniture. “Thought you’d like watching me kill a guy in cold blood. Where’s your sense of romance run off to?” 

Smoothie’s scowl deepened and his eyes flashed dangerously. “Never do that again. Understood?”

His voice made it sound like a warning. Nick puffed himself up and matched the killer’s scowl, rapping his fingertips on the grip of his handgun while he slid into the rolling chair. He spun around once, pretending to think about it, then said, “Nah. You got bad taste in murder victims. Seems like my cosmic duty to make some adjustments.”

“No more _adjustments_.”

“Met you halfway with it yesterday. Now you gotta do the same. Make things nice and mutual, like they ought to be,” Nick suggested, clicking the safety on and spinning the gun. “Seems like it’s only fair we meet each other in the middle.”

“Killing my pets is meeting me in the _middle_?” 

“First off, don’t call ‘em pets, that’s fuckin’ mortifying,” Nick insisted. “Secondly, you’re a creep. And lastly, already got you a new one. Better one, even. Get you another one tomorrow, if you want.” 

“Only one that suits _your_ specifications.”

“Right, exactly. Like gettin’ a dog together. You want a dog? Fine, let’s get one—but I don’t want one that sheds or slobbers, and I don’t like the little yappy ones, so either you get on board with those stipulations or you content yourself with a cat like everyone else. Make sense? Following the metaphor here?”

“I don’t want a dog,” Smoothie snapped. “I want you to stop sticking your nose into my hobbies.”

“Really?” Nick demanded. 

He pushed himself out of the rolling chair, ignoring the way it groaned in protest, and then crossed the room until he was nose-to-nose with Smoothie. He gave the killer one lazy little push to back him against the wall, then slid his hands over the other man’s chest on his way to the inside pocket of Smoothie’s blazer. He tugged the stack of Polaroid photos out in an emphatic jerk and wagged them in front of Smoothie’s face. “Because it looks to me like you _love_ it when I stick my nose into your hobbies. Don’t take no goddamn detective to figure that out, when there’s photographic evidence.”

Smoothie sneered and swiped the stack of Polaroids back, tucking them protectively into his blazer. At first it looked like he was going to argue, but after staring coldly at Nick for one long, tense moment, he finally said through his teeth, “Maybe I _do_ want a dog.”

“Fine.” Nick patted him on the cheek. “Then we’ll pick one out _together_. Sound doable?”

“Fine,” Smoothie spat.

“Fine,” Nick shot back. He narrowed his eyes a little and said, “So is this the part where we make out to diffuse the tension?”

Smoothie rolled his eyes and shoved him away. He brushed past Nick to go and attend to the hostage, grabbing a knife from the nearby set of drawers to cut through the layers of duct tape he’d applied earlier. He secured the man to a flat slatted steel table, ignoring Nick while the hitman planted himself back in the rolling chair and spun around distractingly, then undid the blindfold and checked underneath the man’s eyelids. 

“Still out like a light,” he said to himself. “Probably for the best, now that there’s a whole new cleanup job to get to. Thanks to _you_.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick offered sarcastically. 

“You gave him a concussion. Try to avoid that next time. He’ll be less coherent, could have affected his memory.”

“What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

“Secure him and wait for me. I had chloroform in the car.”

“Well, _say_ that next time.” 

“I’m _saying_ it now,” Smoothie insisted, shooting the hitman a glare. “You’re getting on my nerves.”

“Mutual, baby.”

“Well, _stop_ it.”

“You stop it.”

“You started it,” Smoothie said. 

“I didn’t even start it! You’re the one who got all pissy,” Nick declared, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was all geared up to totally rearrange your guts when we walked in here, you’re the one who killed the mood.” 

“ _Rearrange my_ —! Pfft! Ridiculous. You’re the one who killed my pet in the first place.” 

“You gotta quit callin’ ‘em pets.”

“Regardless, _you_ started it.”

“See, this is exactly what I was just talking about,” said Nick, pointing emphatically. “Didn’t do anything to diffuse the tension. Now we’re both on edge. Should’ve made out with me while I had you up against the wall, then you wouldn’t still be in such a goddamn twist about it.”

“Good to know that you have an utterly juvenile idea of how to solve disagreements. Diffuse the tension? An _apology_ would diffuse the tension.” 

“Not gonna apologize for killing a dude you were already halfway done killing!”

“Halfway. _Halfway_ ,” Smoothie pointed out. 

“Yeah, well, go fuck yourself, _te amo_.” 

Smoothie had already opened his mouth to shoot back an inevitable nasty reply, but instead he snapped his mouth shut instantly. The frown on his face twitched, and he let his eyes linger for a minute on Nick’s scowl before casting them back down to the hostage. He resumed what he’d been doing—double-checking the restraints—and said nothing.

Nick sat back in the rolling chair and watched him for a few minutes. Eventually he growled, “Knew it didn’t mean _motherfucker_. Liar.” 

“Go to the other room and wait for me there.”

“But I like the chair. It’s—”

“—I wasn’t _asking_ , Nick.”

Nick grumbled and stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was serious. Maybe the look on Smoothie’s face convinced him, or maybe just the knife in Smoothie’s hand; either way, he let out a few complaints under his breath and then heaved himself out of the rolling chair, heading to the side room with the cot. He shrugged off his coat and flopped down on his back to wait. 

It was a while before he saw Smoothie again; thirty minutes, at least. The killer must have spent some time cleaning up the corpse in the main room, Nick assumed, or getting his tools ready to deal with the hostage. Smoothie eventually entered the room and slipped out of his blazer, laying it carefully on a bare table on the far wall near the stack of suspicious, empty rat cages. He sat down on the other end of the cot near Nick’s boots and picked at the laces. Nick watched him, waiting for him to say something cruel. 

Instead, after a while, Smoothie sighed, “We can find a pet we both like.” 

“I liked it better with the dog metaphor.”

“A dog we both like,” Smoothie corrected. 

Nick sat up and grumbled under his breath, still annoyed, but quickly losing touch with the anger. He watched Smoothie ease closer and gave him one final skeptical look. “Not gonna get all mean about it again?” 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give me a reason to,” Smoothie said keenly. “Maybe let me get rid of my own _dogs_ in the future, if you don’t like them, instead of taking the matter into your own hands.”

“Guess that’s fair.”

“You were right about one thing, I’ll admit.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Definitely should have diffused the tension. Might not be too late to make that work,” Smoothie suggested, with one thin, coy smile. 

“Pretty sure it’s already diffused, but I never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Nick said. 

He pulled the killer in for a kiss. 

This time, he _didn’t_ think too hard about horses. 


	8. Chapter 8

By the third or fourth hour, Nick had a migraine to rival the worst hangover of his life. He couldn’t shake it. Not with whiskey, not with earplugs, not even with the pair of headphones and the little iPod that Smoothie gave him to keep him occupied. 

“Babe,” he complained loudly after another hour went by, leaning into the main room with a miserable grimace on his face. “Just put him out of his misery, there’s no _way_ he knows anything. Would’ve talked already if he did.” 

Smoothie glanced over and lifted his blood-splattered plastic face shield. The man on his work table barely resembled a man anymore; anything that could be sliced or diced had already been sliced and diced, and pieces of him were laid neatly on a metal folding table at Smoothie’s side. The killer made a dismissive gesture with the hacksaw in his hand and shook his head in response to Nick’s complaints. “You’re wrong, tiger. He’ll talk eventually. He’s just a trooper. Aren’t you, Ted?”

Ted didn’t say anything, but to be fair, Ted was still getting used to his mouth now that he had half as many teeth as before. 

Smoothie shook blood from his gloves and then slipped them off, setting them aside on a stainless steel tray alongside the hacksaw. He let out a little sigh before removing the face shield too, then started to undo the buckles of his apron. 

“Might as well give him a break, though. Little bit of time alone with your thoughts, right, Ted? See if you’re interested in squealing when I get back?” he said with a smile, removing the apron and shaking it out. He set it aside and checked his clothes quickly to make sure no evidence lingered. After toweling off a few drops of blood from his shoe, he turned back to Nick and grinned. “Lunch?”

“Not very hungry,” Nick said, squinting at Ted. 

“It’s been hours. Time for lunch. Unless you want to be a dear and go pick something up? Then Ted and I can keep getting to know each other.”

Ted made a long, drawn-out wailing noise, which made Nick grumble and plug his ears. 

“Might not mind a break from all the screaming,” Nick muttered. “Givin’ me tinnitus.”

“Don’t get squeamish.”

“I’m not. I just don’t usually give ‘em time to do this much _yelling_ , is all. You’d think if you’re gonna yell that much, you’d just talk. Sure he knows something?”

“Certain,” Smoothie said definitively. 

“How?”

“Probably the same way you’d tell that a suspect is lying, back in the NYPD,” Smoothie said in a voice which indicated that Nick was an amateur interrogator at best. “Breath, head positioning, eye contact. Repetition of phrases. Simple stuff. Ted isn’t even a _good_ liar. He’s committed to his art, though. Have to respect that.” 

Nick didn’t complain when Smoothie slid comfortably into his arms. The killer reached up to caress the back of his neck, pulling Nick down to give him one stern, domineering kiss—when it started to hurt, Nick only leaned into it more. It distracted him from the migraine, at least, and he didn’t feel inclined to spoil Smoothie’s good mood, especially now that Smoothie was kissing him as if nothing else in the room mattered. Nick _did_ find himself eyeing Ted uncertainly over Smoothie’s shoulder while the killer’s teeth pulled at his lower lip, though. Eventually he growled, “Not really into the audience, sweetheart.” 

Smoothie gave him one lingering little pout and traced the hitman’s mouth with his fingertips. “Happy to relocate to somewhere a bit more private, if you like,” he suggested, casting his eyes over toward the room with the sleeping cot.

“All fired up from the whole torture thing?”

“Very.”

“Figured as much,” Nick sighed. “Food first. I gotta give my ears a break, maybe pick up some painkillers or somethin’ for the headache.”

Even despite the headache and the audience, he took a moment to savor the attention. Smoothie’s teeth caught the skin underneath his ear and gave him a grateful nip. Nick could feel the killer smiling; Smoothie’s smiles were always a little bit sharper after blood had been spilled. Nick didn’t mind that. Smoothie had a nice smile, after all, and his love of violence was strangely charming. Nick gave the killer a squeeze around the waist to pacify him. 

“Give it an hour,” he said. “I’ll get us a pizza, pop by the drugstore, grab a bottle of bourbon. Headache shouldn’t bother me too much once I’m nice and lubricated.”

He let Smoothie go and moved to leave, but then felt the killer’s insistent fingers catch him by the jaw and yank him back fiercely. Nick thought about protesting, but the eerily gentle look on Smoothie’s face gave him pause. Smoothie squeezed his jaw tight and pulled him close again, nose-to-nose. 

“Maybe save that _last_ part for when you get back,” he suggested, in a tone that feigned innocence. His lips curled into a seductive smile. “Something tells me you’ll need all the _lubrication_ you can get.”

Nick narrowed his eyes, but when he opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, Smoothie took advantage of it without a moment’s hesitation. He was quick, and the kiss was fierce. He didn’t let Nick go until he heard a little rumble of excitement escape the hitman’s mouth, driven out by the cruelty of Smoothie’s tongue and teeth. It was one of the most satisfying sounds out there; in fact, it was quickly becoming one of Smoothie’s favorite sounds. When he finally broke away, he sank his teeth into his own bottom lip and cast his eyes down the front of the hitman’s body. It was difficult to suppress the restless desire to have his way with Nick right then and there. 

“Hurry back,” he murmured. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

“Bet you will,” Nick said with a little wink, tugging playfully at the killer’s tie. “Don’t get too carried away. Can’t have you leavin’ me for Ted.”

“No chance.”

“Already chopped his dick off?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Nick snorted. He gave Smoothie one more quick, hungry kiss and then untangled himself from the insistent clutch of the killer’s arms. 

He swiped Smoothie’s wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer, which was laid neatly aside, and took the credit card out of it before making his exit. He could already hear Ted’s shrieks picking back up by the time he was halfway down the stairs. It would be nice to get away from that for a while, and even nicer to pick up some food and alcohol. 

There wasn’t a pizza place nearby, but there was a food truck with falafel two blocks down next to a drugstore. Nick picked up a bottle of bourbon first, took a few gulps on the sidewalk, and then swaggered off in the direction of the drugstore. He grabbed a bottle of painkillers and wondered whether or not it was worth trying to get Smoothie some sort of treat; he wasn’t entirely certain what that meant for someone who was allergic to sugar, though. He thought about it for a while in the candy section and eventually gave up. Torturing someone for information was probably enough of a treat for Smoothie anyway.

He headed back, armed with falafel and feeling the bourbon. 

When he trudged back up the stairs, he noticed that the sound of Ted’s howling was suspiciously absent. Nick wondered if he’d passed out from the pain—once he poked his head into the room, though, it became clear that he hadn’t. 

Smoothie had one of his hands wrist-deep in Ted’s ribcage, and the other hand was holding a set of surgical scissors. The bloodstains went up to his elbows. When he looked up at Nick, his smile was _much_ too casual. 

“Back early. No pizza?” he asked. 

“Guessing he talked.”

“He did. Had some very interesting things to say. Don’t worry, it’s all recorded. How’s the headache?”

“Not terrible,” said Nick, also _much_ too casually, finding an unoccupied slatted table to set his bags down on. “Not terrible enough to keep me from showing you a good time, at least, once you’re done flirting with Ted. Leave you alone for five minutes and come back to find you buried in some other guy. Thought we had somethin’ special, Smoothie.”

Smoothie cast him a disapproving little look and yanked an organ out of Ted, ignoring the splash that it sent across the front of his apron. 

“I was _going_ to do something very sweet when you got back, as a display of my affection,” he said, gesturing vaguely with Ted’s freshly-stilled heart. “But the poetry of it would be wasted on you, wouldn’t it? You don’t have to make everything so _crass_.” 

“That’s dripping on your shoe.”

Smoothie quickly readjusted to avoid spillage and then said, “I suppose all gestures of affection are wasted on you, anyway.”

“Didn’t realize we’d already moved on to _gestures of affection._ Thought you said we _hated_ each other,” Nick mocked, tearing into his falafel. 

“I’ve learned to appreciate your company.”

“Mff. Great.”

“Someday you’ll learn how lucky you are to have the opportunity to appreciate mine.”

“That’s a long-winded way of telling me you’re a narcissist,” Nick said through a mouthful of falafel. “Hit me with your gesture of affection. Not to be too _crass_ , but I’m hoping it involves sucking my dick. At the very least.”

Smoothie scowled, and held up Ted’s heart. 

“My parents emigrated from Argentina,” he said.

“Um. Alright?”

“Buenos Aires, the capitol. Never been there, myself. I hear it’s beautiful.”

“Not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Be quiet. Father always said they wanted to get out of South America, go somewhere with more _opportunity_ , raise a family, have a handful of children and a white picket fence,” Smoothie went on, unhindered by the uncomfortable look on Nick’s face. “But then I was born, and mother died, and father got to drinking. My stepmother was Cuban. Very Catholic. Might have been sweet, if not for that part. We spoke Spanish in the house.”

Nick chewed his falafel and said nothing. He was already starting to tune Smoothie out.

“I always enjoyed foreign languages,” Smoothie said. “You, however, don’t seem like the type to pick them up easily, given that you barely speak English.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“But it’s never too late to learn something new. A few choice words and phrases won’t hurt.”

“I’m bored already. This didn’t involve sucking my dick at all,” Nick growled. 

Smoothie ignored him and shook the heart in his hand. “This used to belong to Ted. Now it is mine. _Mi corazón_. Repeat that.”

“Smoothie, this isn’t turning me on,” Nick whined, trying to finish his falafel. “Eat your lunch. It’s hot when you talk Spanish. This pathetic attempt at a sexy Spanish professor routine isn’t, though. I’ve seen better performances at a strip club on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Repeat it, Nick.”

Nick grumbled at length, and then finally gave in and said through a mouthful of food, “ _Mi corazón_.”

“Your accent is atrocious.”

“So sue me.”

“Try another one. _El tigre_.”

“Much sexier. Yes,” Nick agreed. “ _El tigre._ That’s me. Diggin’ that one.”

“Well done. Last one for the day,” said Smoothie, dropping the heart back into Ted’s chest cavity and shaking blood from his gloves. “ _El conejo_.”

“That one had better be _motherfucker_.” 

“It isn’t. Say it.”

“ _El conejo,_ ” said Nick, before adding, “Motherfucker.”

“Very good. That one is _rabbit,_ ” said Smoothie while he stripped off his gloves. “Someday you might actually learn to pronounce it right. In the meantime, you can stick with _sweetheart._ I don’t mind that one.” 

“Got it. Call you _motherfucker_ ,” Nick declared. “And since we’re doing a whole cultural exchange, I’d like to point out that where I’m from, _motherfucker_ is a term of great respect and endearment. New York truly is a whole-ass beautiful melting pot, ain’t it?”

“Crass.”

“Bite me, _conejo._ ” 

Smoothie’s mouth twitched. He finished undoing his bloodied apron and then looked down at his shoes, tutting quietly about the blood before making his way over and searching through Nick’s bags to acquire falafel. He gave Nick one little pat on the cheek when he found it and said, “If your accent were a _bit_ better, and if I weren’t starving, I’d already be on top of you after hearing _that_ come out of your mouth.” 

“Mmm. I’ll file that away for later.”

“That’s the idea. Knowledge is power.”

Smoothie hopped up onto the slatted table and started eating. Nick watched him, still chewing slowly, feeling as though it was only fair to exchange information now that Smoothie had told him something personal. Finally he said, “My mom’s name is Janet.”

“I know.”

“You _know_?”

“Your daughter can’t stand her. Ditched her to go to the mall with me. I got her froyo,” said Smoothie easily. “Let her pierce her ears.”

“ _You’re_ the one who—? I thought that was Amanda!” Nick growled. “And my mother is a goddamn saint, I’ll have you know.”

“Doubt it. Go on?”

“No. Fuck you.”

“Oh, come on. We were getting so close to bonding,” Smoothie drawled, picking contemplatively at the falafel. “I was _this_ close to getting on my knees for you, lunch be damned. Practically swooning.”

Nick scowled. “You’re an asshole. My mom’s name is Janet, still lives in Brooklyn. We don’t talk much. Got a few older brothers. We also don’t talk much. Not really a talking kind of a family.” 

“Mm. Why not?”

“Too loud, too drunk, too many broken orbital bones under the bridge.”

That made Smoothie laugh, which Nick liked. It was a pleasant sound, light and dainty, and it made Nick want to say more. 

“The city ain’t a bad place to grow up. Plenty of opportunities to get into trouble,” the hitman said. “I got into trouble a lot as a kid, pissed my ma off all the time.”

“And your father?”

“Not in the picture.”

“Mm. How shocking. Daddy issues.”

“I don’t have _daddy_ _issues_. You’re the one with daddy issues,” Nick protested sharply. Smoothie gave him one long, skeptical look with a raised eyebrow while he chewed. He swallowed emphatically and watched Nick’s eyes flicker down to his throat. The hitman kept staring, hypnotized by the sight of Smoothie casually sliding a finger into his own mouth to lick it clean, and he only looked away when the killer made a rude, naughty little sound in response to his attention. 

“Oh, sure, no issues on your end at _all_ ,” Smoothie said with a snide smirk. “No issues with authority, no desperate need to reinforce your masculinity with bullets and fistfights, no trouble empathizing with others, and _certainly_ no undeniable sexual longing for a firm, dominant partner who validates your _yearning_ to be controlled.”

Nick sputtered incoherently for a minute, then snapped, “I don’t _yearn_ to be _controlled_ , asshole. Need I remind you how goddamn _wet_ you get every time I kill a guy? Or how easy it would be for me to bend you over your stupid little torture table right now and fuck you into next week?”

Smoothie’s smirk only widened. “You’re only proving my point. You like that I approve of your bad behavior. That I’m willing to reward it. Feels good when daddy lets you drive the car, doesn’t it, tiger?”

“You’re just trying to _goad_ me into teaching you a goddamn lesson,” Nick snarled, nearly crushing the remainder of his food in anger. “Just for the sake of being a douchebag, as usual. So much for gestures of affection.”

Smoothie feigned a pout and a helpless little shrug, then kept eating. Nick grumbled under his breath for a while before going immediately back to the bourbon—it took the edge off of Smoothie’s annoying jabs at his self-esteem. He watched the killer pull out his cell phone and hold it up.

“Want to hear what Ted had to say?” Smoothie offered, changing the subject with a bright smile. 

“Just gimme the highlights. Heard enough of his yelling for one day.”

“Apparently Orcus is being hunted. By someone other than us! Isn’t that exciting? We can _race_ them,” Smoothie said. “Legend has it that he’s unkillable—that’s what he tells his cronies, at least. But he has them scouring the black market for something particular, some sort of archaic weapon. Ted’s theory was that it could get the job done. Apparently Orcus has spent millions already trying to find it.”

“So he’s on some wild goose chase for a magic knife.”

“Ted didn’t specify a knife.”

“Yeah, but use some goddamn logic. I don’t remember any ancient Roman _guns.”_

“I, for one, am very curious. We should try to beat them to it.”

Nick frowned. “Why? Let Orcus do the legwork. Once he’s got it, whatever it is, we’ll just take it from him. Ted say anything about who’s after him?”

“Not a clue.”

Nick grumbled. He was trying to put the pieces together, but he knew that he didn’t have enough information yet to see the big picture. He could practically _see_ the gaps in the puzzle. The bourbon wasn’t exactly firing up his detective skills, but even with a buzz going, he knew that they were at a loss. 

“Right,” he sighed. “So what’s step two? They’re gonna tighten up security, after that warehouse fiasco. Won’t be able to hit ‘em so easily.”

“I’ve already figured out step two,” said Smoothie, setting the remainder of his food aside and hopping down from the slatted table. He gestured for Nick to follow him. 

Smoothie led him into the side room with the cot. Nick had expected something in the room to have changed—for Smoothie to have discovered something about the ancient artifacts they’d stolen from the warehouse, or for him to lay out a map with the rest of Orcus’s smuggling operations marked out on it. Nothing in the room was different, though, apart from the fact that Nick spotted the bottle of lube and the strap-on harness tucked halfway out of sight beneath the cot. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 

“Step two?” he demanded. 

Smoothie let out a sigh and sat down on the cot, patting the space beside him to invite Nick to sit. When Nick joined him the killer said, with an air of grandeur, “I think it’s only fair that we _try_ spending some time together like we don’t hate each other, the way you suggested.” 

Nick squinted. “Have we not been doing that?”

“Teetering on the edge, maybe.”

“Interesting,” Nick grumbled. “Assuming that the orgasm changed your mind.”

“May or may not have been that,” said Smoothie evasively. 

“Or the shower.”

“May or may not have been _both_ ,” Smoothie said, much less evasively. “Either way, while I was waiting in the car down at the docks earlier, I realized that I’d be _totally_ put out if you died before I got the chance to…”

“To what? Please don’t bring another weird kink into this.”

“To see what it’s like.”

“What _what’s_ like?” 

Smoothie made a vague gesture. “Doing things nicely, with someone I've learned to appreciate. Like you said. As if we—well. _You_ know.”

“Spit it out, asshole.”

“As if we _cared_ for each other,” said Smoothie, making a face, as if the words tasted bad. He tried to shake it off. “I don’t think I’ve ever _tried_ that. But it would be worth trying with you. Since we don’t hate each other. Not anymore.”

Nick stared at him, wondering whether this was a bluff or not, or whether things were moving too fast. He couldn’t gauge the look on Smoothie’s face. It was blank and unfamiliar, and weirdly pleasant. Finally he grumbled, “You don’t have to talk around it forever, you know.” 

“Talk around what?”

“Just say it,” said Nick. “In _English_.”

Smoothie averted his eyes and said nothing. 

“C’mon,” Nick insisted, giving the killer a little push with his shoulder. “I’m not gonna bite you when you do. You were real worried about me back there. Didn’t want me to get in any trouble. Been more sweet to me lately, too. Tryin’ to teach me Spanish, not being quite as much of a jackass—what’s the issue? Admit that you’ve got a big ol’ goddamn hard-on for me. No judgment.”

“It’s not really a hard-on,” Smoothie said uncomfortably. He was staring at the wall, looking more confused than anything. “It’s like I don’t want you to die, for some reason. Like I would miss you. I didn’t really miss you, the first time you were gone.”

“You’re bad at this,” said Nick. 

“I can tell.”

Nick saw the killer’s shoulders slump. He remembered all the times he’d told someone that he loved them—Amanda hadn’t been the first, but she’d definitely been the last. He’d usually waited for the other person to say it first in order to avoid as much vulnerability as humanly possible. That had worked in most cases. He also remembered that Smoothie probably hadn’t _ever_ said it to anyone, at least not genuinely. It was no wonder that he wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it without a linguistic barrier to hide behind. 

Nick shuffled closer on the cot and let one arm slip around the killer’s shoulders, giving Smoothie an awkward little pat. 

“Hey, look, I’m bad at it, too,” he said encouragingly, letting out a snort. “Got the divorce papers to prove it. But who cares, right? So what if we’re both bad at it? Let’s just be bad at it together.”

“I think I’d like that.”

Nick gave him an encouraging squeeze and then leaned in to mutter into his ear, “Just so you know, now’s the time a normal human being would say—”

“—What, Nick? That I _love_ you?” Smoothie snapped. The words tangled in his mouth, and he grimaced afterwards, but Nick still liked the sound of it. The hitman pulled him closer with a little rumble of approval, ignoring the fact that Smoothie tried to escape his grasp. 

“Think I might _te amo_ you too, psychopath,” he said, a bit more gruffly than he intended, still unsure about expressing it out loud. 

Smoothie put his escape attempts on hold to bark out a laugh and roll his eyes. “That’s not how you—”

“Doesn’t matter. Save it for the next Spanish lesson,” said Nick dismissively. He pulled Smoothie in closer and brushed one set of knuckles across the killer’s cheek, waiting to see how long it would take for Smoothie to kiss him. It only took a moment; they were both already leaning in for it, anticipating the inevitable. 

It was different, and a little bit weird, and at first Nick wasn’t entirely sure that he liked it. He’d grown used to Smoothie’s cruelty and even learned to love it, and now he could barely feel it at all. It had been replaced with something slower. It almost felt like Smoothie was _grateful_ to be kissing him—like he actually appreciated it, instead of feeling entitled to it like he usually did. Nick could still feel his teeth, but they weren’t as quick or sharp as before, and they only brought with them a gentle kind of pain; the kind of lingering ache that made Nick want more. 

The killer didn’t offer up any resistance when Nick pushed him down easily against the cot. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable surface, but if Smoothie cared, he made no mention of it. 

“Can’t remember whose turn it is,” Nick noted, too concerned with undoing the killer’s tie to think about anything else. It was cute, he thought; cute that Smoothie was still wearing a tie, even though there was no one around to impress and no job to dress up for. 

“I don’t have a preference,” said Smoothie. 

“Thought you liked your little system.”

“Not as much as I like you.”

Nick smiled, unsure of what to say to that—he wasn’t used to hearing Smoothie compliment him so sincerely. He liked it a little bit too much, and he tried not to show it, just in case Smoothie learned to take advantage of it. Smoothie’s hands were already pulling him in closer, but Nick resisted long enough to cast one furtive little glance down toward the strap-on tucked beneath the cot. 

“Been thinking,” he said evasively. “I mean, since we’re here and all, and since you were so, ah— _generous_ with the blowjob thing yesterday, let’s say…I might not mind switching places.”

“My, my. Nick Sax. Making me an offer that I can’t refuse?”

“Might be,” Nick said with a smirk. “Think you can manage being nice?”

“Nice,” Smoothie echoed uncertainly. 

“Yeah. Not your strong suit, I know,” said the hitman. He slid Smoothie’s tie from his neck and laid it aside, then leaned in and gave him one lingering kiss on the jaw. “But I got faith in you, sweetheart. You’ll treat me right.”

“No one’s ever said _that_ to me before,” Smoothie said, rolling his eyes in disbelief. That only widened the grin on Nick’s face. 

“Mm. Well, fuck ‘em, fuck everyone else. They didn’t love ya like I do, did they?” Nick growled into his ear. He didn’t even have to look at Smoothie to tell that the words got to him—he could feel the warmth of the killer’s skin heating up underneath his lips when the blush set in. It was a surprisingly sweet sensation, almost as sweet as the way that Smoothie’s hands crept up to Nick’s face to feel out the stubble of his beard. He pulled Nick into another of those aching, appreciative kisses and let out a sigh of satisfaction into the hitman’s mouth. 

It didn’t take much to coax Nick out of his coat and sweater. Smoothie liked watching the hitman peel those layers away. A thought flashed through his mind; a quaint little memory of peeling skin away from muscle and muscle away from bone, back in the heyday of his time in Blue’s employ, but the thought didn’t linger for long. It was painted over immediately by how nice Nick looked when he balled up his sweater and tossed it aside with a lazy grin. 

“You’re very handsome, underneath all the grime and everything,” Smoothie said, without bothering to tear his eyes away from their detailed scan of Nick’s body. “You could have anyone you wanted, looking like that.”

Nick barked out a laugh. “Very cute.”

“I mean it.”

“Real flattering, baby, but I’m only interested in having you. Let’s just leave it at that,” Nick said with a smirk. “Nice knowing that your taste in men is bad enough to make you think _I’m_ a catch.” 

He gave the killer one quick, rough kiss and then shifted to undo his own belt and the front of his pants, sliding everything off. Unencumbered by clothes, he sat back and gave Smoothie an indulgent smile before grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him up from the cot. 

“You’re in my spot,” he said, forcing Smoothie into his lap and then settling comfortably down against the cot, tucking his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow. He closed his eyes when he felt the killer’s fingers tracing his body; it was easy by now to relax and enjoy the attention. It was nice being able to feel the keen interest in each of Smoothie’s touches. The killer had _practiced_ this by now, made a little ritual of it, almost—Nick could tell where his hands were going to linger and where they were going to pause. 

“You _are_ a catch,” Smoothie noted disdainfully, giving Nick a chastising look. He eased in closer to bring his lips to the hitman’s bare skin. “Shame you don’t think so. Very well-built. Very clever.”

“Oh, come _on._ ” 

“It’s true. Picked you because you were a worthy opponent. Only one I ever had.”

Smoothie liked this game; it felt nice to have Nick underneath him, stripped down to the skin. He liked the power imbalance, and the way that his black dress pants looked against Nick’s bare thighs when he climbed on top of the hitman. It was obvious that Nick liked it, too. He looked more excited than usual, and he let out a little grumble of satisfaction each time Smoothie’s lips brushed over a sweet spot on his chest. 

Smoothie wasn’t used to touching anyone like this. It was hard to resist the urge to bite down or dig his nails in. He knew that Nick wouldn’t have complained if he did, but he wanted to at least _try_ to be gentle, to treat Nick well. He’d never felt this way about anyone, after all. Touching Nick now felt different than touching anyone else, and Smoothie couldn’t find a reason to avoid leaning into the newness of it, the novelty of it—he couldn’t deny that it felt _good_. It felt even better in the wake of torture. The knowledge that his hands could inflict such incredible pain and then go on to worship Nick’s body with soft, attentive touches immediately afterwards was an unexpected turn-on; it made him feel strangely powerful. It made him feel like the arbiter of life and death, of pain and pleasure. Besides, Nick’s responses were even more satisfying than the screams of the hostage had been. 

“You coulda been a hooker. But like a high-class one,” Nick chuckled to himself, arching into the touch of Smoothie’s lips against his skin. “ _Mm_. Real fancy. Could have made some fast cash.”

Smoothie smiled, and didn’t bother to mention that studying anesthesiology had been a slightly more reliable source of _fast cash_. Instead he turned his attention to enjoying his favorite spots; the trail of hair running down the front of Nick’s belly, the place beneath Nick’s ear that he liked to bite, the patch of skin near the hitman’s collarbone that made Nick squirm every time Smoothie’s lips brushed over it. Nick tried to tug him into a kiss, but Smoothie pushed his wrists lightly back down against the cot. 

“No, no,” he insisted, in a low voice that Nick didn’t dare argue with. “Stay still. You’re all mine, now.”

“Is that right?” Nick said, amused. 

“Mmhmm.”

“Thought I was yours already.”

Smoothie looked at him for a long moment, then leaned in to give him one gentle, teasing nip on the lips. He lingered there to enjoy the heat of Nick’s breath and the coarseness of his beard. Finally he said, “Hmm. It used to only be about _controlling_ you—it’s more complex than that, now. I still like the control, obviously. Like watching you _submit_ to me.”

He accentuated those words with a firm, but measured grip on Nick’s throat with one hand, loving the spark of excitement that it brought to the hitman’s eyes, and then went on, “But now it’s more than that. I find myself wanting to keep you safe. To make you happy, even. I think I want to _keep_ you.”

“Well good fuckin’ luck gettin’ rid of me, sweetheart,” Nick said with a wry grin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you’re not. I’d never let you leave.”

“I like it when you talk like that. Makes me feel like the belle of the ball or some shit.” 

“Mm. Makes you feel special, does it?”

“Little bit.”

Smoothie’s hand caressed the hitman’s rough, bristly throat. Nick liked the little flash of danger that lingered in the killer’s eyes even now, even when his hands were nothing but gentle. The hitman let his head fall back against the cot with a grateful growl when he felt those hands move lower, down toward his growing erection. He could feel the familiar warmth of the other man’s mouth between his legs, and he couldn’t help but push his hips eagerly into the sensation, as if that would make Smoothie speed up. There was no chance of that, though, and Nick knew it—he could tell that he was in for the long haul, and he had no intention of complaining. Nick liked the newfound affection in Smoothie’s touch. 

He’d been expecting a blowjob, but Smoothie only stroked and kissed him; his lips moved over the hitman’s hips and thighs, up the length of his shaft and down over both testicles. When he pushed Nick’s thighs up toward his chest, Nick _almost_ protested—but the sensation of the killer’s tongue trailing down over his sensitive entrance shocked him into silence immediately. Nick lost his breath when he felt the tip of Smoothie’s tongue press into him. 

“You, uh—you’re takin’ the whole makin’ me feel _special_ thing to the next level,” he managed hoarsely, tensing up involuntarily when Smoothie’s tongue worked its way inside. It felt as good as his fingers had felt the other night, even as good as the silicone strap-on, maybe even _better_. Nick couldn’t deny the fact that it hardened his dick up almost instantly. It made him want more; it made him desperate to feel Smoothie inside of him again, fucking him again, stroking him into mindless obedience again. Nick didn’t even want to wait for it, despite how sweet and attentive the foreplay felt now that Smoothie was inclined to treat him nicely. 

He tried to clutch at Smoothie’s hands, but the killer only pushed his wrists down patiently again and kept up the treatment. Every now and again his lips moved to kiss Nick’s shaft, giving him a quick break from the overload of sensation.

“Don’t tease me, Smoothie, c’mon,” Nick grumbled when he couldn’t take it any more, twisting in the killer’s grip. “Don’t have to torture me no more. Just gimme what I want.”

“Mm,” the killer murmured softly, letting his lips trace the hitman’s shaft once more. “Ask nicely.”

“Nicely,” Nick repeated. He let out a desperate little huff in surrender. “Sure, sweetheart. I want you. _Please._ ” 

“Oh, perfect. Surprisingly compliant.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re usually stubborn.”

“Well, _you_ usually threaten to bite me,” Nick reminded him. “And you don’t usually butter me up with all those pretty words first. That’s enough to make anyone compliant.”

“Wish I’d known that to begin with.”

“Don’t take advantage of it,” Nick laughed. Smoothie’s hands guided Nick’s own to his buttons, and the killer watched with an approving little smile while Nick undid them from the top down, the way that he liked. Nick couldn’t help but run both hands over the other man’s body once he was finished. Smoothie shrugged his shirt off and let Nick touch him without complaint; after all, he liked being able to reward the hitman’s good behavior. By the time Nick’s fingers reached his belt, Nick was looking up at him with undisguised need. 

“I’d kiss you right now, if you let me,” the hitman offered under his breath. “Even though you were just chowing down on some pretty indecent places.”

“How generous of you,” Smoothie snorted.

“Guess it’s only fair,” said Nick. “Hard to resist kissing you, anyway, no matter what sick shit you’ve been up to. Murder, mayhem, rimjobs.”

“My specialties.”

Smoothie let Nick pull him down into one soft little kiss, appreciating the sentiment more than the act itself. The hitman finished undoing Smoothie’s belt and the front of his pants, and he couldn’t keep from slipping one hand underneath the fabric to touch him. Smoothie let out a sweet, gratifying sound; Nick liked that, and he got more insistent with his touches, letting his lips scrape at Smoothie’s neck while his fingers stroked the killer between the legs. 

“Wouldn’t mind feeling you cum again,” Nick growled quietly into the other man’s ear. “Liked that the first time. Felt like winning the lottery. Hitting the jackpot. What do you think, _conejo_? Anything I can do to make that happen again?”

Smoothie closed his eyes, letting his body move with the rhythm of Nick’s fingers. After taking a moment to enjoy it he said, “Maybe if you’re diligent.”

“I’m feelin’ real diligent.” 

“I’m sure you are. We’ll see how diligent you’re feeling when I’m finished with you, hm? See if you _earn_ it,” the killer said slyly. He eased Nick’s hand out of his pants and shifted to remove them, then fetched his harness from underneath the cot and slid that on instead. The eager look on Nick’s face was charming to no end. 

Smoothie fetched the bottle of lube from below and readied his fingers while he admired the excitement written across the hitman’s face—he liked it just as much as he’d enjoyed the anxiety and the panic on Nick’s face the last time he’d had Nick at his mercy like this. He liked hearing Nick’s sharp intake of breath when he slipped the first finger inside much more slowly than he’d done the first time. It was nice feeling Nick relax into it. 

Nick let out a satisfied groan when Smoothie’s finger opened him up. He’d been waiting for this, he realized; he’d been looking forward to the sensation of Smoothie’s fingers working their way in and out of him, caressing him from the inside. The killer’s touch felt better now than it had the last time. He was more gentle, and the tip of his finger sought out Nick’s prostate with every push inward, which felt spectacular enough to make Nick see stars. Nick welcomed the next finger as eagerly as the first—he saw Smoothie smile down at him indulgently. 

“Ohh, you’re _well_ on your way to earning it,” the killer said, pressing both fingers in deep and watching Nick’s face contort with pleasure. “Very good. You look stunning, tiger. Really would be hilarious for me to turn the tables and kill you now, wouldn’t it?”

Nick’s expression faltered a little bit, and his eyes snapped open in a glare. “I—can you _not_?” 

“Oh, please, I’m _joking_ ,” Smoothie insisted, curling his fingers lightly to stimulate Nick from deep inside, then leaning in to lay a little kiss against the hitman’s heaving chest. “Thought you had a sense of humor.”

“I was enjoying the fact that you weren’t being creepy,” Nick complained. “For five minutes, at least. Also, that feels—”

“Mm?”

“—That feels fuckin’ amazing,” the hitman managed, trying to clutch at Smoothie’s free hand while he arched into the touch. That brought another smile to the killer’s face. He laced the fingers of his free hand with Nick’s own, content to indulge him, and then pressed a third into him with tantalizing slowness. Watching Nick bite back a little swear of delight was surprisingly rewarding. 

Before long, he could tell that Nick was ready for more. The hitman’s enjoyment was undeniably obvious, and he was pleasantly relaxed enough to let Smoothie’s fingers explore him as deeply as the killer wanted to. Smoothie took his time to ensure that Nick was prepared well enough, and then finally let his fingers slide out of Nick’s body. He wiped his hand off on his discarded shirt, which Nick found more than a little bit surprising, since it seemed uncharacteristic, and then tossed it aside and picked up the lube again. Once he opened it, Nick reached out to grab his wrist and stop him. 

“Lemme do it,” he insisted in a low, sultry growl of a voice, snatching the bottle from Smoothie’s hands. He squirted a generous amount into his palm and then looked up at the killer with a grin while he slicked up the strap-on, working his hand up and down the shaft with a nasty little laugh. “You _like_ that, don’t you, handsome?”

Smoothie didn’t just like it—he was completely enthralled by the sight. Nick worked the shaft of the strap-on like he knew what he was doing. He did it as if Smoothie could actually feel it, as if he _wanted_ it inside him more than anything. The raunchy smile on his face was irresistible. 

Smoothie couldn’t wait another moment for it, and it was clear that Nick didn’t care to wait, either. The killer pushed Nick’s legs up out of the way and slung one over his shoulder, enjoying the fact that it made Nick chuckle, and then pressed the tip of the strap-on against the hitman’s waiting entrance. 

Nick’s fingers clawed at the sides of the cot when he felt the head push in. He was more than ready, and Smoothie took his time easing his way in, letting the hitman enjoy every inch. Nick loved the slower pace and the fact that Smoothie said his name softly; Smoothie even pressed a little kiss against the inside of Nick’s knee while his fingers slid down the hitman’s thigh. It was all surprisingly tender—Nick liked that. He opened himself up to it and ignored how new and strange the vulnerability felt. It was nice being able to lay back and enjoy something without having to put in any serious effort, and he liked letting Smoothie _have_ him like this. He let out one gruff little moan when he felt the killer sink those last few inches into him; it made him feel full, made him feel _owned_ , and above all it made him want more. 

He tried to clutch at Smoothie’s hands, but he could only reach one of them. He brought it to his face and pressed his lips against Smoothie’s knuckles while the killer’s hips worked against him. The rhythm started off slow and shallow, but Nick urged him in deeper soon enough with a few telling squeezes of his thighs. It didn’t take long for Smoothie to give him what he wanted—the killer flashed a wicked smile and then pushed Nick down firmly into the cot, pumping the strap-on into him harder. That was enough to drive a desperate series of curses out from between Nick’s lips. 

“Fuckin’— _yes_ ,” the hitman gasped, trying to grip at him tighter. Smoothie hushed him and gave him a few easy little touches. 

“Stay relaxed,” he instructed. 

“I’m so _fuckin’_ relaxed,” Nick insisted, his eyes wide and his fingers knotting greedily with Smoothie’s own. 

“Shhh. Easy, tiger.” 

Smoothie kissed the inside of the hitman’s knee again and settled into him, stilling his hips to give Nick a chance to ease up. Finally he felt the hitman’s grip loosen, and he picked up the pace again. This time Nick was ready for it; he rocked his body into every thrust and let his eyes flutter shut, lost in the thrill of it all. 

Nick loved it. He loved being able to crack his eyes open every now and then and see Smoothie’s dark, intense gaze boring into him from above—he liked that the killer’s thrusts weren’t quite so cruel this time, and the fact that he could pull his knees closer to his chest to welcome the length of the strap-on in deeper. Smoothie’s hands never stopped touching him, stroking his skin incessantly. That made Nick feel more desirable than anything, especially when Smoothie pushed into him, leaned close, and spoke softly. 

“Tell me, Nick,” he said, without missing a beat with the rhythm of his hips. “Do you want to finish while I’m inside you? Or would you rather finish inside me?”

Nick didn’t know the answer to that. He felt like there was definitely a _correct_ answer, but both options seemed equally fantastic right now, and it was difficult to think through the pleasure of prostate stimulation. Every thrust felt even sweeter than the last. 

“Whatever you want,” Nick managed, giving up and letting his eyes drift shut again to enjoy the attention. “You’re in charge, sweetheart, anything you want.”

“Mmm. _Very_ good, Nick. So good.” 

The killer gave Nick one aggressive little tug to readjust him, forcing Nick’s knees up against his chest and driving himself in deep enough to elicit a sharp, stifled grunt of excitement from Nick’s lips. He was close enough to kiss, now, but he only grazed his lips over Nick’s chin and said, “I want to watch you touch yourself. Make it _exciting_ for me.” 

“Fuckin’ happy to,” Nick growled, clutching him closer with one hand and burying his face into the killer’s neck. He could feel Smoothie’s hips working against him even more intensely, and he pulled the killer in tighter with every fiber of his body while he brought his slick hand to his own cock. Smoothie’s fingers closed over his own and worked the shaft along with him, offering up a wealth of encouraging touches. Every now and then he whispered a few words of praise into Nick’s ear; “Perfect, tiger,” and “That’s right,” and other gentle, meaningless things. 

The last one wasn’t meaningless, though—when he felt Nick getting close to the edge, he pressed his lips against the hitman’s ear and murmured into it, “I think that I might love you until my _heart_ stops.”

“Don’t you mean mine?” Nick barely managed through his teeth, focusing on nothing but the impending climax.

“No. Mine,” Smoothie purred. “Might love you long after you’re dead, Nick Sax. I think it’s my _destiny_.” 

Something about hearing those words did the trick for Nick—he clutched at the back of Smoothie’s neck and gave in to it, letting the killer’s practiced hand take over to stroke him to completion. He couldn’t help but choke out Smoothie’s name alongside a string of grateful sounds when he came, spilling his load into Smoothie’s hand and over his own stomach. The killer held him tight until it was over and then slid the silicone strap-on out of him, all the better to lean in and lay a string of soft kisses across Nick’s neck. 

Nick panted heavily through his satisfied smile. He didn’t let Smoothie go, and he knew he didn’t have to; the killer was still nestled in against him, kissing Nick’s throat as if that were the only thing left on his to-do list for the rest of the week. Nick let one of his hands trace through Smoothie’s hair and welcomed every touch of his lips. It felt nice, letting Smoothie kiss him like this after sex. He’d never expected anything this gentle from the killer, but he liked it—he liked it a lot more than Smoothie’s cruelty and coldness. Even on the cramped little cot, Smoothie fit nicely in Nick’s arms and settled easily into the crook of his neck, almost as if he’d been _made_ to fit there. Nick couldn’t crush him close enough. 

“Knew you’d treat me right,” he said finally, after he’d caught his breath, laying his head back lazily to give Smoothie better access to his neck. He let out one sleepy sigh. “Knew you could be nice if you wanted to. Just needed the right reason.”

Smoothie smiled against his skin. “Mm. You seem like a good enough reason.”

“Think so?” 

“Thought you’d give me a worthy death,” said the killer, kissing him again, refusing to let up. “I’ll settle for a worthy life. Might as well learn to give you what you want, since you’ll be a permanent fixture of it.”

“Permanent fixture,” Nick snorted in disbelief. “We’ll see how long it takes you to backtrack on that one, sweetheart. Bet my ex-wife thought the same thing, but look at me now.”

“I’m not your ex-wife.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever,” Smoothie said firmly. Nick couldn’t quite tell if it was a promise or a threat until the killer murmured, “Not until one of us is dead, at least. That’s the only way _this_ ends.” 

It was a promise _and_ a threat, then; that made Nick feel more comfortable somehow. It clarified everything, and helped him remember why he’d spared Smoothie’s life in the first place—because he needed the killer’s ruthless, unyielding resolve on his side in the hunt for Orcus. The rest had been a happy accident or, as Smoothie preferred to call it, _destiny._

Nick gathered the killer up into his lap and gave him a long, greedy kiss before letting one of his hands slip down beneath the harness. 

“Fine,” he said, feeling Smoothie’s lips hesitate against his own while the killer’s breath hitched at the touch. “Til death to us part, then, I guess. Seems weird. Haven’t even been together for a week. But I guess we’ve been doing this little dance since Christmas, haven't we?”

“Mmhmm.”

“If anyone asks, it’s a shotgun thing. I’ll just tell ‘em you didn’t use a condom on Christmas Eve. Had to stay with you to preserve my fast-eroding dignity, let you make an honest man outta me.”

That brought a light smirk to Smoothie’s face. He glanced down to admire Nick’s hand working underneath the harness, then leaned in for another of the hitman's kisses. 

It took a while—it took longer than it had the last time, and probably longer than anyone else would have bothered with, but Nick was invested in the outcome. He undid the harness after the first few minutes because it had started to get in his way, and then pulled Smoothie against him. It wasn’t enough to just stroke him; Nick knew that he needed the internal sensation far more than the external one. He slicked up two of his fingers and slid them into the killer’s tight, lithe body, trying to match Smoothie’s careful attention to detail with his own hands. He liked that Smoothie shivered every now and then when the stimulation sent tremors through him. Smoothie didn’t seem to mind the fact that Nick was a little bit slow, a little bit lazy and languid about everything. If anything, he seemed to prefer the more intimate touch. He let his arms wind posessively around Nick’s neck while the hitman’s lips and fingers tended to him. 

It was unusual being touched by someone who wasn’t _using_ him, someone who only wanted to make him feel good. It was even stranger knowing that Nick wasn’t getting anything out of it directly. Nick wasn’t even inside of him this time, after all. He was only returning a favor, and Nick wasn’t the kind of man who returned favors for anyone he didn’t care about. Smoothie was new to the idea of being in _love_ with someone, but he was quickly realizing that it came with pleasant perks. There was something about it that made him feel a little bit smug, too, especially now that he knew the feeling was mutual. It felt like _this_ was the real victory, the final and most damning destruction imaginable; earning the hitman’s affection and hoarding it away like a dragon, keeping Nick all to himself, all the way to the grave. 

When the orgasm finally swept over him, it felt almost as good as the last time—not _quite_ as nice, since it lacked the shock factor and the thrill of the blood and the kill, but still fantastic enough to make him muffle a moan of delight into Nick’s shoulder and cling to the hitman for dear life. 

Nick laughed when he felt the killer’s climax overtake him. He kept up the treatment with his fingers, massaging Smoothie’s prostate until he finally felt the tremors in the little man’s body subside. Nick was paying closer attention this time, and he noticed with a satisfied smirk that Smoothie actually _came_ ; he could feel the familiar, sticky warmth of cum against his skin, seeping from the end of the catheter. The feeling was gratifying. It meant that Nick had done something right, that he’d achieved something most other people weren’t capable of. After all, no one else could touch Smoothie like this and live to tell the tale. No one else could draw those delicious sounds out of him, or those gentle touches; only Nick could do that, and he was starting to feel pretty goddamn _proud_ of it. 

Once Smoothie had come down from cloud nine and collected himself again, he pressed his lips against Nick’s jaw and kissed him there posessively. 

“Bet you only like me because I fuck you better than anyone else,” Nick said brashly, giving the killer’s ass a playful squeeze. 

“Oh, that must be it,” Smoothie lied. “Because you’re _so_ known for your sexual prowess.” 

“Seems like I got more than enough sexual prowess for the likes of you.”

Smoothie only smirked and kissed him harder, giving him an affectionate nip under the ear. 

Nick ran his fingers through the killer’s hair and let himself fantasize for a while, enjoying Smoothie’s attention in the afterglow. Finally he grumbled, “Smoothie.”

“Mm?”

“Had a thought just now.”

“Shocking. Very out of character for you.”

“Shut up,” Nick growled good-naturedly. He shifted, then tilted the killer’s chin up to meet his gaze. “Got to thinkin’. What if we didn’t go after Orcus?”

Smoothie’s brows furrowed in confusion. “We have to. You and I both made a deal—”

“What if we just vanish into the wind? Run off to Argentina or something. You got money, right? We can find someplace nice and quiet, get a condo on the beach, fuck each other into an early grave. Could be a nice life.”

Smoothie gave him a little frown. “He’ll find us.”

“Let him try.”

“No. I won’t have the threat hanging over our heads,” Smoothie insisted. He let his gaze drift down to Nick’s lips and then back up again. “But it’s a quaint little…daydream.” 

Nick tried to tempt him into it by leaning in closer, teasing the killer’s mouth with his own. “C’mon. We could just run away from our problems. Ever westward. No god of death. No shitty deals. Nothin’ but lazy days and margaritas.”

He heard Smoothie let out an irritated sound, and then the killer pushed him away and untangled himself from Nick’s arms. He swiped his discarded shirt from the floor and wiped off the front of his body with it, then tossed it at Nick and set about replacing his pants. Nick was disappointed to see him getting dressed again already; he’d been hoping to spend the rest of the day laying around on the cot, ignoring any responsibilities or assassination schemes. He wiped his body off anyway and then held up Smoothie’s shirt. 

“Never in all my goddamn days did I think I’d see you use one of these as a sex towel,” he said, shaking it out. “The guy who wears a stupid rubber coat the keep blood off his shirts, lettin’ me use one of em to clean up jizz? How the mighty have fallen, right?”

Smoothie shot him a cool glare and said, “I have a suitcase in the car. Packed for a long weekend.”

“Perfect. Guess you’re all set for Argentina.”

“Nick.”

“What? Just think about it, baby.”

“He has to die. If he doesn’t, he’ll come after us. Besides,” said Smoothie, with a concerned frown. “If he lives, there’s no telling when _we_ might die. Could be—well, could be a lot further in the future than either of us would like.”

“Right, the shitty little immortality clause.”

“He didn’t specify immortality.”

“He said _for all eternity_.” 

“True, but that’s a big claim,” Smoothie said. “If someone dropped that on me in an interrogation, I’d assume it was a bluff. No way to tell, I suppose, unless we ask him. Something I’m not particularly inclined to do.”

Smoothie stood up and grabbed Nick’s sweater from the floor, tugging it on in place of his shirt. It was significantly too big for him, but it smelled like Nick, and he only needed it to go out to the car and fetch his suitcase. He could see the hitman admiring him out of the corner of his eye. Nick scanned him up and down with a smile, but said nothing. 

“We should figure out who’s hunting him,” said Smoothie, back to business already. “That’ll be an easier lead to follow than finding whatever artifact Orcus is after.”

“You’re gettin’ good at detective work, rookie.”

Smoothie flashed him a smirk and then stole away without another word. 

Nick didn’t bother moving from the cot. He could smell blood lingering in the air from the other room, mingling with the scent of sweat and sex. He was more relaxed than he’d been in ages; it normally took half a bottle of quaaludes to make him feel like this. Dozing off was effortless in the wake of so much exertion. 

He didn’t dream, but images flickered behind his eyes in the minutes before falling asleep and waking—images of what his life had been before all of this, back when he spent his days throwing back shots between bumps of cocaine and taking out the occasional mobster for Blue. He’d spent his days back then waiting to die, hoping that someone or something would finally do him in and end the slog of his dreary life. Happy and Hailey had changed everything, but only briefly—the idea of being a father and a family man had appealed to him, but it had never been realistic, at least not to Nick. He’d done his best, and it had gotten him killed. Hailey wasn’t something that Nick _deserved_. Amanda had known that all along. 

Smoothie was something that he deserved, though. Smoothie was a little bit cruel and controlling, a little bit mean and jealous. He didn’t fall into the trap of believing that Nick’s warped sense of justice made him a _good_ person. That was strangely refreshing. Nick liked that the killer could see him for exactly what he was and still choose him over anyone else; Smoothie appreciated him without wanting Nick to _change_ for him. The darkest parts of Nick were the parts that Smoothie loved the most. 

Besides, Smoothie’s gentler and more caring touches felt amazing—Nick had never really expected that from him. No one touched him like Smoothie did. No one would ever have bothered. Nick wasn’t even sure that he had the right to be treated like that, after the kind of life he’d lived. Maybe it was _more_ than he deserved. 

He already wanted Smoothie back in his arms. Nick had never been a particularly patient man, and he didn’t like waiting. He was already daydreaming about what to start with when Smoothie returned; he couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day than with an in-depth investigation of the killer’s sleek, slender body. Nick couldn’t deny the burst of narcissistic pride that welled up inside him every time he felt Smoothie shiver through another unfamiliar orgasmic convulsion—he wanted to hold Smoothie down and force him through orgasm after orgasm, to drive it out of him without mercy until Smoothie _begged_ him to stop. That would put the killer in his place, Nick was certain of it. Maybe it would even be enough to convince Smoothie to run away with him, to put Orcus and the mob and New York City itself in the rear view mirror and never look back. 

That was all he wanted. Not revenge, really, not anymore; just an _escape_ from his troubles. Nick was starting to believe that Smoothie could _be_ that escape for him, even if they didn’t find a way to take Orcus down.

Nick drifted in and out of sleep, fantasizing about heading west with Smoothie in the passenger’s seat of his car—he could picture the setting sun blazing in the lenses of Smoothie’s red glasses, the golden sun falling down over the Pacific at the far end of Route 66, Smoothie’s shoes propped up on the dashboard while he flipped through a collection of old CDs to listen to on the road—and the images gradually faded into one another as he dozed off. 

He didn’t wake up until twenty minutes later.

When he finally _did_ wake, he was terribly cold. 

His sweater was still nowhere in sight, and neither was Smoothie. The torture chamber was still and empty and eerily silent. Nick was alone. 

He stood from the cot and tugged on an undershirt and pants, suspicious about Smoothie’s prolonged absence. He’d only dipped out to grab something from the car—it ought to have taken five minutes at most, certainly not twenty. 

Nick’s instincts were sharp. He could feel the sense of _danger_ building up in his gut as he got dressed, and then as he scoured the torture chamber for a note or a sign that Smoothie had returned. Instead he found evidence of the opposite.

Smoothie’s wallet was still in the pocket of his blazer, along with his stack of incriminating Polaroids. Only his cell phone and ring of keys had gone missing—Nick remembered hearing the jangle of the keys in Smoothie’s hand just before he’d left to grab his suitcase from the car. 

Instinctively, Nick knew that something had gone wrong. 

He threw his shoes and coat on and took the stairs two at a time, growing more suspicious by the second, and then burst out through the side door that he and Smoothie had used to move the hostage in. 

The first thing he noticed when he thrust his head outside was the fact that Smoothie’s car hadn’t moved. Nick scanned the scene, putting the pieces together with a practiced eye. 

Everything was a piece of evidence, now; this was a _crime scene_. The site of an abduction. 

The car was still locked, so someone had taken Smoothie right when he’d exited the building. 

Garbage cans knocked over near the door. Stains on the ground—maybe blood? Maybe nothing? Signs of a struggle, regardless. Smoothie’s car keys abandoned on the asphalt.

Smear marks on the outside of the car window. Grease and oil from human skin and saliva. 

No way to get another vehicle in through the front, so they must have come from the other direction. Nick turned tail and started off down the alley, looking for anything out of place. 

There was no evidence, but Nick found a bum smoking a cigarette at the corner of the side street. 

“Seen any cars down here?” he demanded, scouring his pockets for change in case the man required a bribe. 

“Yeah. You just missed one. Sedan,” the man grumbled. He took a long puff. “Parked a little ways down. Lady in a red pantsuit, yellin’ her head off. Sounded like a commotion. I stay out of that shit.”

“Red pantsuit?”

“Like one of those fancy realtors, with the faces on the signs.” 

“Fancy realtors, right,” Nick growled under his breath, putting the pieces together immediately. “ _Merry_.”

Nick didn’t know how to get in touch with his old partner, but he knew _exactly_ where Merry would’ve taken Smoothie—somewhere to dispose of him permanently. He knew all of her old haunts and dead drops, especially the dump spot out by the water, where it would be easy to get rid of a body or let off a gunshot without drawing too much attention. Nick swiped Smoothie’s car keys from the ground and floored it without a second thought. 

Nick hadn’t been this afraid since—well, since Smoothie had abducted Hailey last Easter, ironically. He did his best to avoid thinking about the specifics of how Merry had found them or whether or not she'd already _killed_ Smoothie. Blocking it out was no use, though. Even when he tried to focus on the road, he couldn’t get his mind off of the fingerprints smeared against the car’s back window. He could picture Merry forcing Smoothie up against the glass, cuffing him, blowing his good eye right out of his skull with a well-placed bullet. That last image haunted Nick like nothing else. 

He felt guilty suddenly for mocking how concerned Smoothie had been for his safety back at the warehouse—Nick could take care of himself in a fight, so it had seemed ridiculous, but now he understood how stressful it was from the other side. After all, Smoothie wasn’t as durable as he was, and Merry wasn’t the type of person who would spare the killer for old time’s sake. Nick knew that he was racing against her patience. 

Still, there was nothing he could do but head for the water and hope for the best. With any luck, Smoothie wouldn’t be floating face-down by the time he arrived. 

Nick ran every red light on the way. 

***

Smoothie only ever dreamed of red things. The interior ridges of people and animals, the rush of blood burning underneath skin, infrared sweat and heat. Sometimes he could hear music when he dreamed—thrumming beats and pulses—or make out faces in between the silver blades of knives and scalpels. 

Something was different about this dream, though. He hadn’t drifted into it; he’d been plunged into it headfirst, and the intensity of it was unfamiliar. He could feel warmth and he could see shadows, but he could only make out a few distinct sensations. 

Scrape of Nick’s unshaven neck against his own, heat of Nick’s breath. Blood red splashes of color across the hitman’s skin, then the inescapable warmth of Nick’s lips moving against his ear. Nick whispering something about _Argentina_ , offering him half a lifetime of empty, idealized promises that couldn’t realistically be kept. 

_And what’s so bad about Argentina?_ he reasoned with himself in the dream. He couldn’t feel or see anything anymore—just darkness, and the faraway sound of Nick’s low, easy laughter teasing him. _Maybe I could get used to Argentina if he were there._

“Get out of the fucking car.”

He felt something ice cold splash against his face, and then the all-too-familiar barrel of a gun at his temple. Everything was bleary at first. His pleasant dream had been cut short, and now he found himself with his wrists bound, looking up into the fiery eyes of Meredith McCarthy. 

“I’m not asking again. Get out of the _fucking_ car, Smoothie, or I’ll be _rinsing_ what’s left of you out of the trunk tonight, understood?” she ordered. The red pantsuit looked good on her—sharp, chic, emphatic. A real fashion statement. 

He smiled and tried to make a quip, but McCarthy struck him hard across the face with the weapon and then leveled it between his eyes. 

“I don’t have all day,” she deadpanned. 

She seized him by the front of his oversized sweater and dragged him from the trunk of her car, then threw him to the concrete. His wrists were bound too tightly to let him break the fall, and McCarthy’s gun was on him again before he even hit the ground. 

“Here’s how it’s gonna be,” McCarthy told him, crouching down to his level to shove the gun up against his jaw. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what the hell’s going on. Every detail. You’re gonna tell me what you were doing at that warehouse today, what business you have with Orcus, and most importantly, you’re gonna tell me what the _fuck_ you’re doing with _Nick Sax.”_

She wasn’t going to let him live. Smoothie could already see it in her eyes. She was going to get whatever information she could out of him, and then she would put a bullet in him and throw him in the river. He could smell the water. He could hear the seagulls. 

Smoothie had never given up information, and he wasn’t about to start now. He was a _professional_ mobster, after all, and his reputation was everything. He smiled up at her, smug and untouchable, testing his luck just to see how much he could twist the knife before she pulled the trigger. 

“So many questions,” he said playfully. “Maybe I’d answer them, if a _detective_ asked me. But you aren’t one, are you? Just a washed-up ex cop wearing last year’s clearance section. _Love_ the suit.”

“I don’t think I made myself clear,” McCarthy said, cocking the gun. “Talk. Now. Or you can take your secrets, shove ‘em up your ass, and tell ‘em all to Blue when you see him in hell.”

She grabbed him by the sweater—so _rough_ , so similar to the way Nick grabbed him—and yanked his head up off the concrete to jam her gun up underneath his chin. 

“Tell me what the hell happened to Sax, and why I saw him get out of _your_ car today when I know that he _died_ last Easter,” McCarthy demanded. 

“Oh. Of course. Let me clear it all up,” Smoothie offered, leaning in and feeling her recoil while her finger tightened against the trigger. That brought a smile to his face. He kept his voice light and lackadaisical while he said, “Don’t tell him

I told you this, but Sax actually faked his own _death_ just to get away from the rancid smell of your vagina. Incredible, isn’t it? The lengths a man will go to?” 

He felt the muzzle of the gun strike him in the mouth, then felt McCarthy prying his teeth apart with it, making him _choke_ with it; she was only a few seconds from wiping him off the face of the earth. He tried to laugh around the metal in his mouth, but she slapped him into silence again. 

“Cut the crap,” she snapped. 

“ _Mmm._ ” 

McCarthy calculated for a moment, then eased the gun out of Smoothie’s mouth and replaced it under his chin again. She steeled herself and sweetened the deal. “Fine. Tell me what’s going on with Sax and I’ll let you walk away. Right now. Final offer.”

“What a bad liar you are,” Smoothie noted, scanning her up and down. “No wonder you weren’t cut out to be a cop. Is motherhood suiting you better?”

“Cut the bullshit and spill.”

“Still raising your ex-fucker’s little brat, aren’t you? How’s _that_ going?” he asked, showing too many of his cards at once by sneering, his expression falling somewhere between malice and pride. “She _knows_ , you know. Knows that I fucked him harder than you ever did, back on Christmas Eve—”

“Shut the hell up.” 

“—Clever, isn’t she? Watching her shoot a nine millimeter made me think I’d be a _great_ stepdad.”

“Last chance to spill, dumbass.” 

Smoothie’s sneer relaxed into something more smug. “Sax isn’t any of your concern.” 

McCarthy cocked her head to one side and gave him a thin, narrow-eyed smile. “Is that right?”

She knelt down and pushed the muzzle of the gun against his skin hard enough to leave a mark. The way she leaned in and looked at him would’ve frightened anyone else—her expression made it clear that she could kill him without even a trace of guilt in her heart. 

“Wanna know what I’ve been busy with since Sax kicked the bucket?” McCarthy demanded, lowering her voice. She wasn’t fucking around anymore. “Visiting his grave with his daughter. Visiting her mom, who wouldn’t be in prison if it weren’t for _you._ I’ve been doing _all_ of that, and on top of it, I’ve been hunting the son of a bitch behind it all who’s been running around wearing Blue Scaramucci’s skin like a goddamn Halloween mask. So you see, Smoothie, you’re half right. Sax isn’t any of my concern. But _you_ sure as hell are. You can probably imagine how surprised I was to find _him_ while I was tailing _you_.”

“Busy girl. All work and no play makes Jill a dumb _bitch_ —” Smoothie started, only to feel McCarthy strike him with the gun again. The blow was hard enough to break one of the teeth this time, towards the back. Smoothie’s tongue collected up the pieces and then he spat them out onto the concrete. 

“Last chance, little guy,” McCarthy sighed. Her patience had clearly worn thin. She leveled the gun at him again, planning to blow him away regardless, even if he gave her whatever answers she wanted. “Your blood or your guts. Either way, something’s gotta spill.”

Smoothie had just opened his mouth to tell her to go fuck herself when he heard tires screeching to a halt against the asphalt. The sound seemed to surprise McCarthy as much as it surprised him, and they both snapped their heads toward the source; a car had pulled up just behind Merry’s, one that Smoothie recognized as his own. 

Nick Sax sprang out of the driver’s seat, both hands raised to show that he was unarmed, a wild and dangerous look on his face. His eyes passed over the scene once before locking onto McCarthy and the gun in her hand.

“Merry. Jesus Christ, what are you _doing_?” he cried in bewilderment. When she turned the gun on him, Nick turned on the sympathy in his voice in an attempt to appeal to her better nature. “Hey. Now, look, listen, now ain’t the time for hasty decisions. It’s real good to see you, Merr, I’ve been meaning to call—”

“ _Sax_ ,” she said, as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there in the flesh. She faltered with the gun, lowering it for a moment before leveling it again. Her face cycled between emotions; first relief, then anger, then betrayal, finally landing on confusion and staying there. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“Long story. No time for that,” Nick lied. 

“Bullshit, Nick. You—explain everything. Now. But first, just— _uggh._ Just…hug me, you idiot bastard,” Merry grumbled reluctantly. The barrel of the gun wavered in the air for a moment before she lowered it for good, and once she’d holstered it again, she closed the distance and threw her arms around Nick. 

He returned the hug, even though Merry was still bristling, still brimming with anger despite the display of affection. Her arms were warm and familiar around his neck, and his own slipped around her waist easily to return the hug. It went on just long enough to make Smoothie’s red eye flicker to the side in annoyance. 

“Thought I’d lost you this time, Sax,” Merry said gravely into Nick’s ear. “We all did.”

“You know me, Merr. Bulletproof,” Nick assured her. He caught a glimpse of Smoothie’s face and quickly disentangled himself from Merry’s arms, hoping to soothe the irritation that popped and fizzled behind the killer’s eyes. “Look, Merr, you know I’d love to catch up, believe me, but I can’t hang around.”

“You can. You can, Sax, because I’ve got a way to take him down—Orcus. He’s the key to all of this. He’s the—”

“I said I ain’t got _time_ , Merr,” Nick insisted. He pushed her away as gently as he could and then brushed past her, dropping to one knee to hastily undo the length of rope knotted around Smoothie’s wrists. He justified the action over his shoulder, throwing Meredith a look. “I’m following a lead of my own, been on the case the whole time. Hunting Orcus. Haven’t exactly had a spare minute to call you and catch up. Been in deep cover, layin’ low. Thanks for doing me the solid of _kidnapping_ my inside man, though, that really helped. Didn’t set me back at all. Come on, get the hell up, sw—uh, _Smoothie_.” 

He yanked the killer to his feet and looked him over with concern, then threw Meredith a glare. “Christ, what did you do to him?”

Meredith watched, narrowing her eyes. “Just roughed him up a little. The sick bastard deserves worse. Sax, what the hell are you doing _working_ with _him_?”

“Lay off, Merry.”

“He _ruined_ your daughter’s life, Nick. He should be behind bars, or better yet, in the ground.”

“I told you to lay off,” Nick said, too defensively. He locked eyes with Meredith. “Leave this alone, Merr. It’s…look, it’s good to see you. Good to know you’re holding up. But you gotta let this go. Act like we didn’t cross paths. It’s gonna be better for everyone that way. You got it?”

Nick could feel Meredith analyzing him; she scanned him, noting the way that his fingers lingered a little bit too long against Smoothie’s own, the eerily familiar way that Nick tugged at the killer’s sweater. The thing that really cemented her suspicion was the smug smile written across Smoothie’s face. 

“Holy shit, are you two—?” she said, still calculating, refusing to believe the conclusion her mind had jumped to. She watched Nick try fruitlessly to cover his tracks—he released his hand from Smoothie’s sweater, grumbled something under his breath. Meredith’s fingers twitched toward her gun again. “Nick, _tell_ me you’re not—”

“—Merr, you’ve got it all wrong, let it go,” Nick said. The two of them exchanged a look, and Smoothie’s eyes followed it eagerly. He was too busy reveling in the discomfort to notice when McCarthy’s eyes slid over to him. 

“After everything I’ve done, Sax,” she said, looking Smoothie up and down critically before turning her piercing gaze back to Nick. “After having your back. Raising your _kid_. Sitting through your fucking funeral, buying flowers for Hailey to lay on your grave, week after week—only to find out that all this time, you’ve been sneaking around with your little _man crush_ from the mob?” 

“Man crush,” Smoothie repeated, amused. Nick shot him a glare and put himself between the two of them to distract Meredith. 

“This is my best chance at getting rid of Orcus, Merr,” Nick growled. “He can go where we can’t. He knows shit. Insider shit. About Orcus, about Sonny Shine—”

“—About what you look like in the nude, Nick? Or have you forgotten about that part? The part where I saved your ass from this psychopath, _literally_ saved your _ass_?” 

Nick faltered and fumbled over his words for a minute, debating whether or not it was worth reminding her that she hadn’t _exactly_ saved his ass, but that was neither here nor there. Instead he pushed the thought from his mind and tried to gloss over Meredith’s concerns. He watched her hand twitch toward her gun and then reached back to keep Smoothie behind him, as if he were getting ready to shield the killer from some inevitable attack. 

“Water under the bridge, Merry,” he barked with a dismissive gesture. 

“Water under the bridge. Sure. And Hailey? Is she water under the bridge, too?” 

“You know it ain’t like that.”

“What’s it like then, Sax?”

Nick didn’t know how to answer the question. Behind his back, he felt Smoothie’s fingers curl against his own and interlace with them posessively, just out of Merry’s line of sight. He steeled himself and tried to let the touch encourage him, even though it only made him sick to his stomach; Merry’s words had tainted it. Nick tried to come up with a real excuse, something that Merry might believe. It was useless, though. There was no way to justify the fact that he’d rushed to Smoothie’s rescue, or the fact that they were cooperating on a job. There was nothing he could say to make Merry understand. 

“I’m waiting,” she said demandingly. 

Finally Nick swallowed his pride. He clutched at Smoothie’s hand behind his back and growled out the closest thing he could manage to the truth. “She’s better off with you, Meredith, you know that. Better off without _me._ Killing Orcus is the one last thing that I can do for her. The only way I can make things right.”

Meredith shook her head in disbelief, backing away toward her car. She stopped when she reached it and said, “Hailey doesn’t need revenge, Sax, she needs her father.”

She opened the driver’s side door and slid into it, rolling down the window to point at him accusingly. “You know where to find me once you’re done playing mobster again, Nick. But not while you’re working with that twisted fucker. Hailey thinks you’re dead, and you’ll _stay_ dead until _he’s_ six feet under. Bring your man crush within a hundred yards of her and I’ll fill him with lead. That’s a goddamn guarantee.”

“Oh, yeah, well I’ll—fill him with _something_ ,” Nick grumbled under his breath, his words drowned out by the rev of the engine. She flipped him the bird before she drove away, tires screeching against the pavement, leaving both Nick and Smoothie in the dust behind her. 

They both watched her go. Smoothie tilted his head pleasantly to one side and waited until she was out of sight, then spat another mouthful of blood out onto the concrete before muttering, “Good riddance.” 

Nick whirled around and seized him by the front of the sweater. There was one tense moment of confused bewilderment between the two of them before Nick threw his arms roughly around the killer and yanked him close into a tight, inescapable hug. Smoothie sputtered incoherently and tried to free himself, annoyed at the way Nick’s embrace aggravated the fresh bruises Merry had given him. 

“Get off of me,” he grumbled impatiently. 

“No. Fuck you,” Nick snapped. He held Smoothie tighter, almost tight enough to _break_ him, and clutched the killer into the crook of his neck. “Fuck you. Thought—thought I lost you. Thought I’d get here too late, find her standin’ over your corpse.”

“You should be so lucky,” Smoothie scoffed, trying to make a joke of it to get out of Nick’s grip. It was no use. Nick only grumbled something mean under his breath and pressed his lips into the killer’s short, dark hair. 

He didn’t want to let go; Smoothie felt like his last chance to have one _lasting_ good thing in his life, and now that Nick had nearly lost him, the hitman wasn’t willing to free Smoothie from the clutch of his arms. He clung to the one good thing he had left and didn’t let go. 

Smoothie struggled and squirmed a little at first, but once he felt how quickly the hitman’s heart was hammering, he relaxed into the embrace. Nick’s fingers were gripping tightly at the back of his jacket, as if Nick couldn’t hold him close enough to satisfy himself. There was something adorable about the desperation of the gesture. 

“I’m _fine_ , Nick,” Smoothie said. He didn’t try to shake the hitman off this time; instead he returned the hug, settling into Nick’s arms and breathing in the smell of bourbon and cigarettes on his collar. “Knew you’d be hot on the trail.”

Nick grumbled something incoherent in agreement, then dragged Smoothie to the car. The killer tried to disengage from the hug to slip around the vehicle to the passenger’s side, but Nick didn’t allow it—he opened the back door instead and threw Smoothie into the backseat, following immediately after. Smoothie opened his mouth to question it, but before he could get a word out Nick’s lips had already silenced him with a forceful, ferocious kiss. 

Nick was a bit more rough than Smoothie had expected. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the bruises on Smoothie’s face or the taste of blood in his mouth. If anything, the injuries only made him kiss Smoothie more desperately. When Smoothie let out one irritated whine of pain, Nick yanked him closer and abandoned the kiss to mouth at the killer’s neck, forcing Smoothie down against the backseat of the car, trying to adjust to the cramped space with brute force instead of finesse. 

“Would’ve burned the whole city down,” he swore, growling the words into Smoothie’s ear. “Like the fourth of fucking July, fifth of fucking November. Would’ve blown it all to smithereens if anything happened to you.”

The back of the car was uncomfortable, but Smoothie didn’t care; Nick’s hands were all over him, tugging at him, forcing their way up underneath the sweater to touch him. The killer hissed out a soft sound of satisfaction. 

“Already lost everyone else,” Nick said, maybe more to himself than to Smoothie, while he hurriedly undid the other man’s belt. “Everyone that ever mattered to me. Not gonna lose you, too.”

His hands were insistent and undeniable. Smoothie couldn’t have fought them off even if he’d wanted to. He liked that, though—he liked the fact that he caught a glimpse of redness and moisture flickering in the corner of Nick’s eye, and he liked the choked quality that Nick’s voice had taken on. He’d never seen Nick get _emotional_ like this over anything except Hailey.

The hitman tried to hide it—not just from Smoothie, but from himself, too—with more of those forceful, raunchy touches. He slid his hand down the front of Smoothie’s pants and grasped at him between the legs as if it were his last chance to ever _feel_ Smoothie again, pulling a startled gasp out of the killer’s mouth. He couldn’t kiss Smoothie hard enough, couldn’t touch him thoroughly enough. 

“I’m _fine_ , Nick. I’m fine,” Smoothie tried to assure him. He only managed the words in between stifled sounds of pleasure; Nick’s fingers were working roughly against his skin, providing just the right amount of pain and pleasure to fire him up. It felt fantastic, but Smoothie knew he had to put a stop to it. He let one of his hands catch Nick’s wrist to slow him down, then turned the hitman’s face back toward his own. Nick refused to look him in the eyes. 

“She really got to you, didn’t she? Those things she said,” Smoothie guessed, grazing Nick’s bristly cheek with his fingertips. Nick shook himself free of the touch. 

“Couldn’t give a rat’s ass what she said,” the hitman lied through his teeth. “Just—quit the talking and touch me.”

“Nick.”

“Thought you were gone. Thought you were— _really_ gone,” Nick growled, giving in at last. He pressed his forehead against Smoothie’s and let out one long, gruff sigh before crushing him into another of those full-body hugs. Smoothie returned it in earnest this time. He let his fingers comb through the hitman’s unkempt hair, trying his best to soothe him, even though soothing touches weren’t Smoothie’s strong suit. It seemed to work; Nick relaxed, slowly but surely. He kept up his insistent kisses along the side of the killer’s neck, but they eased into something more gentle and appreciative. 

“Didn’t want to go back to the way things were, back when I was alone. Not sure I could handle that,” Nick grumbled against him. “Not after being with you.” 

Smoothie said nothing, but he understood the sentiment. It was the same thing he’d felt while sitting alone in his car at the docks, waiting for Nick to call—waiting to see if his partner had made it out of Orcus’s warehouse alive. He and Nick were both getting too attached. Smoothie knew better than to allow that, especially after working for the mob for so long, but he didn’t want to change it. There was nothing more gratifying than the way that Nick was clinging to him now. Nothing compared to the grateful, tantalizing touch of the hitman’s hands—they were so much more attentive, now that Nick had almost lost him for good. 

“No point in dwelling on hypotheticals,” he said, pressing a kiss against the hitman’s temple, smoothing Nick’s hair back. “I’m here, tiger. Not going anywhere.”

“Only til death do us part. Came pretty close to that today.”

“Mm. Death didn’t keep you away from me,” Smoothie reminded him softly. “Won’t keep me away from you, either. I’ll find a way back to you, Sax. There’s no getting away from me now.”

Nick loved the possessive edge to his voice and the way that Smoothie’s fingers sifted through his hair. He was more at ease now, after the killer’s reassuring words. It was easier to push Smoothie down and kiss him again; it felt less urgent now that Nick had made his point. Nick might have spent the next hour or two kissing him, if he’d had his way, or might have held him down and fucked him right then and there in the back of the car—but Smoothie’s lips pressed up against his ear, and the killer said something that gave Nick pause. 

“We’ll have to go after McCarthy. She has information. She _knows_ something about how to take Orcus down,” he said. “And besides, she has something that we want.”

“What, a bad attitude?” 

“No.” Smoothie turned Nick’s face to his, the red rabbit eye flashing dangerously in its socket, and leaned in to hiss the answer into the hitman’s ear: 

“ _Hailey_.”


End file.
